Mount
by Prunormis
Summary: Soren (Denmark) dreams of winning olympic gold in show jumping. That is, until the incident which leaves him trumatised and on the verge of losing everything. His friend Edvard (Netherlands) sends him into the Norwegian Woods to a barn where there are only ponies and annoying tourists. There he is supposed to find someone who can help him. But no chance that could be true, right?
1. Arrival

Denmark: Soren  
Norway: Sigurd  
Iceland: Hákon  
Finland: Tino  
Sweden: Berwald  
Netherlands: Edvard  
Belgium: Laura

I am sorry for the weird formatting in the beginning. There are some descriptions of the scenes and locations which I had to space out so it won't appear as a wall of text. Hope you like it and constructive criticism is always welcome!

* * *

«So this is it,» thought the tall man with wild hair and bright blue eyes.  
Before him lied a stable with a riding hall directly attached to it, built of the same wood and painted in the same Scandinavian red as so many other barns he had passed on his way to this remote location. There were small stone cottages embedded into the hill behind the stable, and before the dense and dark forest surrounding everything. They were styled in the old and traditional way, even older than the stable and the main house, which sat enthroned over everything with its three stories of white wood planks and dark windows.

It was old, that much Søren could see and it surely left as much of an impression to the poor workers and neighbours once upon a time as it leaves it nowadays on the tourists coming here for horses, nature and the wish of being completely alone and remote from everything. Even now it possessed an old proudness and resilience with its story hidden behind cold glass and warm wood.

Its front porch was elevated by a few steps and three small tables with matching chairs were placed on it, flowers overflowing their pots on the railing. Flowers were everywhere. On every window, red geraniums, white petals surrounding many small flower heads and many other colours were found on the window sills of the cottages, and the main house. Even here on the parking lot were some pots with arranged flowers surrounding small birch trees.

Everything was neat and yet in disarray somehow. It wasn't like his professional stables as the grass around him wasn't neatly cut, the fences were not painted white and everything was made out of wood and stone. No concrete. Not even the street he arrived on. Only gravel. Søren was already sick of it and his car as well. The light dust was settled on his rear window to stay there until he was out of the country. But after his two-day journey he would not jump back inside as fast as he would like to. No. He would give this place a chance for his friend. He would not meet those harsh green eyes staring him down. He would not give up easily, he was Søren Hansen after all and definitely not a quitter.

And so, he bent down, grabbed his bag and threw it over his broad shoulder and started pulling his suitcase over the gravel, which scrunched with every step he took towards the main house. How many tourists would be here? How many tourists thinking they could play Vikings out here? Or some hippies trying to connect with nature and horses? Søren snorted and looked around. Once when he was a boy he might have belonged to one of the wanna-be Vikings if he had stayed here with his family. But now he didn't even know why he was here; why he spent so much money to even travel out here and why he was wasting his time.

As he marched forwards the forest on his left side opened and he caught a glimpse of part of the pasture and he almost wanted to laugh out loud. Those horses were even smaller than he anticipated. They consisted of ten Icelandic horses in all the colour variations Søren could name and another ten of Fjord horses with their thick necks and in every shade the race could offer. From a silvery coat to cream to a light caramel brown. Two or three lifted their heads to look at who was approaching but most of them couldn't be bothered and continued grazing. Those horses, no, ponies were for children. Good enough for the pen at the zoo going in circles, would his coach have said. How was an adult supposed to mount these without looking absolutely ridiculous? And yet. Søren hesitated. Vikings did ride those fluffy ponies once upon a time.  
 _"No,"_ Søren thought, _"I won't feel any better out here."_

He wanted to go back. Back to the gentle giants and hot-blooded cracks. He wanted to feel energy under the saddle not some… fluff. But it was too late as the door to the white house opened and a man, no a boy, exited. He was startling, as his blonde hair was on the verge of being white. As he approached the Dane with lazy and still determined steps, as if he couldn't decide whether to care or not, Søren noticed the violet eyes. Was it albinism? The skin was very fair too despite it being summer and this boy clearly passing a lot of time outside if he truly worked here, judging his dirty black band shirt and mud sprinkled breeches. Søren decided to wait where he was, and overplayed his unwillingness to be here with a friendly smile. He still was curious of this new and young person. He must have been around twenty years old.  
"Are you Søren Hansen?" the boy asked as he stopped a good two metres in front of him. Søren nodded and closed in, offering him his hand. Which he accepted. This boy had a surprisingly strong grip, despite his slender figure.  
"Yes, I am supposed to stay here for the rest of the summer."  
They boy nodded courtly, having his information confirmed.  
"I am Hákon Sigvesson," he presented himself with a polite smile and turned with a single step to the side. He gestured towards the main house.  
"As a single guest you are going to stay in the main house as the cottages are all going to be taken during your stay."  
Søren sighed and nodded. Now he couldn't even sleep in the cosy cottages but in this ice palace, as he baptised it in his head.  
"Come, I will show you your room."  
 _From now on it can only get better,_ Søren thought to himself in an attempt to remain optimistic. And so he followed Hákon over the gravel.  
"I imagine you want to first take a shower and relax some before I will show you the installations." Hákon said in a bored voice, having repeated this suggestion a hundred times. And although it was standard protocol to ask this, Søren couldn't help than lift his shirt a bit and taking a sniff at it. Even if he didn't smell particularly bad, a shower sounded very nice indeed.  
"Yes please," he thus answered as he carried his suitcase and bag up the porch and past the first table to the door. Hákon was holding it open for Søren to enter and tried to make himself as thin as possible. Søren in the meantime was trying to manoeuvre himself and all his luggage through the narrow opening without bumping against the small table, squishing Hákon or tearing down the hung up coats in the hall way. Hákons judging eyes and his met for an awkward second and Søren smiled sheepishly. What a start.  
Finally, everything was in the hallway with Hákon in front of him. Looking around, Søren noticed why it was so narrow: A staircase to his left side took up half of the space, leading to the upper floors, accompanied with photographs in matching frames despite their different sizes. To his right was the kitchen as he could see through the open door and a bit farther behind he could make out a dinner table. Two other doors were on the right side and another two on the left, behind the staircase. The walls were still out of wood but held in a light blue and paintings and photographs decorated the walls here as well. The old lamps on the walls were not yet necessary as the window at the end of the hallway spent enough light. A small dark brown table, fitting with its colour to the staircase, was standing on the right side and a thin vase with some wild flowers stood upon it. Søren took a deep breath. It didn't smell like home but he liked the scent anyways. It smelled of wood, leather, some kind of fresh pastry and the odour of the residents.

Hákon walked in front of him and stopped in front of the first room on the left. A golden plate indicated that this is "room no. 1". Søren noticed how every door on this floor had a similar plate. Indicating "bathroom", "kitchen", "living room" and "room no. 2". As Hákon opened it he continued explaining:  
"The upper floor is private but you will find everything you need down here."  
He stepped inside and closed the window that was still open from the preparations for the new guest.  
The room was as clean as the hall way and painted in the same icy blue. And yet it felt already warmer with the rough landscape painting in a golden frame over his bed on the left side of the room and a cream coloured rug in the centre. White curtains were pulled aside and through the window he could spot the outdoor arena and something else looking like a shrunken race track? Søren would explore that later and instead let his bag fall on the bed which was filled with pillows and fur. Fur? Søren hesitated and just wanted to ask Hákon whether the nights really got this cold as Hákon pre-empted him.  
"Yes, every bed has some fur on it as the nights are cold and it contributes to our Norwegian Mountains aesthetic. If you instead want to use a second blanket just tell us and we will fix it for you."  
Søren simply closed his mouth again and shook his head.  
"Fur is fine."  
"Alright. The bathroom is free to your use. There is a shower as well as a bath tub and you can close the door by key. Although I would like to ask you to not take a bath during the meals as some kids have a week bladder and can't or shouldn't walk all the way back to their respective cottage. We don't want any accidents."  
Søren nodded obediently. He could share a bathroom. He could sleep in this cold place. And if there would truly, unbelievably be a steady flow of tourists, he wouldn't be alone.  
"In about an hour we will have our Swedish _Fika,_ so coffee and cakes. I will show you the rest later."  
"Thank you."  
Hákon closed the door behind him and thanks to the old wooden floor Søren could hear him walking down the corridor back outside. He huffed and opened his suitcase. Time to make himself comfortable.

There was enough place to store everything he brought with him. The big, dark wardrobe let his few belongings look small, despite Sørens clothing size. The chest-of-drawers fashioned in the same style with golden knobs let Søren feel like a poor man with so much space left he could use if only he had more. And everywhere the Norse decorating tendrils, dragons and runes carved into the wood of every single item of furniture, and even into the frame of the mirror. To his surprise there was even a bookstand with books of different languages, genres, authors, sizes and ages.  
Yes, as a boy Søren would have liked it here.

The water was running hot over his shoulders and Søren tried to find his happy place. Here he was truly alone. No phone connection and he didn't get to ask the wifi password yet. _Although all of this is maybe a good thing_ , Søren sneered. His friends were currently at the Grand Prix in Paris, probably drinking Champagne and celebrating.  
Francis surely was there as he has to show himself on his home turf and he never missed an opportunity to meet his friends and rivals, flirting shamelessly and showing off his country's culture, although subtly, with a gallery as the place to meet or a beautiful restaurant with a view on one of the city's attractions. The infamous Italian twins still had to qualify themselves for next year's European Championships and so they needed to shine in Paris.  
The German brothers did not have to worry about that as their whole team was since long qualified and instead they would decline the champagne and rather grab a bottle of beer and bicker at which German horse type was the best. Trakhener? Oldenburger? Or the old Holsteiner? At that conversation, the old-fashioned English rider Arthur surely couldn't help himself than bring his tipsy wits into the conversation and bragging about the English blood flowing in almost every of the modern jumping horses.  
But his best friend Edvard would sit back and smoke to relax before tomorrow. Collecting his thoughts and nodding at what his sister would tell him what she learnt of his rivals. His sister… Laura. Yes, it would have been more than fun. And they would still enjoy their time, with or without Søren. And tomorrow they would fly whilst Søren would eat dust and count his blue marks.

Søren stepped out of the shower and onto the cold tiles. It managed to get his mind briefly a break as he reached for the towel. He just needed to quickly get out of this narrow place full of haze and occupy himself somehow before…  
…He was back.  
Rubbing his wet hair damp.  
He heard the cheers, the last obstacle.  
Drying his shoulder and back.  
The short moment of distraction as his damned mind thought of winning.  
Drying his legs.  
The missed cue, the lost horse and feeling the surge of power as she tried to jump from too far away.  
Søren quickly straightened himself again just to see his blurred shape in the mirror with his eyes wide open. He couldn't move a muscle. Not now, not back then, when…  
The pain, the fear, the legs kicking at wood and the shrieking.  
No air, no horse, he had lost his reins and the saddle and there was again the horrible sound.  
No air…  
Søren got no air and so he turned around and barged outside. Crisp air filled his lungs and he felt the cold settling on his naked shoulders and his chest. He wrapped his towel quickly around his waist. He trusted no one would take his stuff from the bathroom and so he quickly hurried back into his room. He needed to occupy himself.

Dressed for a day at a barn with his lucky shirt, which had "Copenhagen" largely written on it, he stepped outside. He was ready at whatever fate threw at him.  
It was a red rubber ball. Not only that but fate and the little seven years old had a killer aim. All Søren could hear was a short "Watch it!" before the ball hit him square in his face. He tumbled backwards and held his nose.  
The ball bounced twice on the porch before the small boy caught it again. Søren was just grateful for not having to use any handkerchiefs and he slowly let his hand sink again. The boy looked down and fidgeted with the ball he was holding.  
"I'm sorry Mister," he mumbled out in perfect English and looked up with eyes that could have been Søren's. But not quite and the thick eyebrows quickly distracted Søren's attention form the boy's eyes. They reminded him somehow of a certain English showjumper.  
"It's fine, just pay more attention the next time." Søren squat down and offered his hand.  
"I am Søren. Who are you?" The boy seemed to have forgotten all its former reluctance and gripped on the offered hand with childish enthusiasm.  
"Peter!" he said and grinned. "I live here!"  
 _Poor boy,_ Søren thought. _Having to live here and driving to school for hours with no one around to play._  
But before Søren could say anything nice, Peter already had let go of his hand and turned around.  
"Gotta go and train. Bye Søren!" he exclaimed before jumping down the porch and kicking the ball into the direction of the cottages. Søren smiled and slowly got up again. He liked that boy.  
"S'rry for Peter. We told him to not play ball around the porch," a deep voice said behind Søren and made him jump. His poor heart.  
"Oh, it's…" The man Søren turned around to was tall. And frightening. "…fine." Søren was not used on people looking down on him and matching his broad shoulders. The only exception were Edvard and Ludwig, the Dutch and German rider. Behind the rectangular glasses was a pair of piercing sea blue eyes measuring the person in front of him as much as Søren did. He instantly felt judged and so he stood taller and smiled.  
"Your son?"  
The tall man just nodded courtly.  
"'m Berwald Oxenstierna. 'N you are the new guest?"  
"Sure I am. Søren Hansen. Arrived an hour ago, ready for your Swedish _Fika_."  
Berwalds lips twitched upwards and now Søren noticed the tablet in his hands with a pot of coffee, milk and sugar, and a plate with various pastries on them. Cups were piled up on it but they didn't clang together as Berwald held the tablet securely in his large and steady hands. What Søren noticed as well was the fact that he was standing in this man's way. Quickly he stepped aside and let Berwald set the table.  
"So you live in the main house…?"  
"No, in the cottage out there." Berwald quickly pointed to the one closest to the forest, with blue, white and yellow flowers in front of the windows and children's toys spread all around it.  
"That seems nice," Søren said simply.  
"It is."

The table was set and Berwald left Søren to instead ask an Asian couple if they needed anything. Søren hadn't even noticed them, until now but they looked like the quite type, even though the young woman was smirking at him for a second. That must have been funny to look at, having a ball smacked into your face. Feeling that his face turned red he decidedly sat down.

From his heightened position, he easily spotted Hákon marching towards him from the stables together with another man, clad in a light blue overall and a black shirt. As they were approaching he could make out that both were covered in a similar coat of dust but that the new man also sported some black spots and had some of the blackness smeared over his left cheek. He was wiping his hands with a formerly white towel before he walked up to his table and sat down with a huff. Maybe that was the owner? He remembered having read that he had a smaller brother, which must be Hákon.  
Hákon followed and sat down beside Søren. He smelled of straw and horse. But it was Tino who raised his voice first:  
"Moi! I am Tino. I'll spare you my family name, you won't remember it anyways," the overall man said cheerily. He too was blonde and his eyes matched those of Hákon.  
"Søren Hansen. Nice to meet you," at least one welcoming adult out here. But this man couldn't be Hákons brother. He spoke with a strange accent which Søren couldn't quite sort out. So then…  
"Guessing from your attire you are responsible for the maintenance out here? But you are not from Norway."  
"Yes and yes," Tino poured himself a cup of coffee and handed the pot then to Søren. Søren followed his example whilst Tino chattered on.  
"I look after that everything works as it should and I fix stuff that still manages to break. And I build stuff that is needed and manage the heavy machinery. Managing the forest is my task as well. But my husband is there for the furniture. It's his hobby so I won't interfere with that." Søren took a sip of his coffee and made a face. Tino's face dropped and instantly looked at him with a calculating look in his eyes, all sympathy gone in an instant. Søren wasn't sure how, but his intuition knew that this chubby and friendly man should not be angered. Or something terrible would happen.  
"You aren't a homophobe, are you?" Tino inquired and leaned a bit more forward. Søren's eyes widened and quickly he shook his head whilst he reached for the sugar.  
"Oh no… No, it's just the coffee it's-" he threw in two full spoons and looked for milk. "-just too strong." Least thing Søren could use now was to be marked as a homophobe whilst staying here for the rest of the summer. Although they'd maybe kick him out and Søren could return back home and have a funny story to tell. But he wasn't that lucky as Tino began to laugh and nodded.  
"Yeah, Sigurd and I like our coffee black and strong. Keeps us functioning."  
"Sigurd is your husband?" He remembered having read that name on the website of this barn. The others maybe as well but that was already a week ago.  
"Oh, heavens no," Tino chuckled. "Sigurd is not to be married, least by me. I am very happy with my Berwald." He flashed a simple iron ring with a small diamond embedded in it on his left hand.  
"Oh," Søren mouthed. "Then this Sigurd is…"  
"…my brother and the one who owns all of this," Hákon finished. His lips were in a thin line and his eyes fixed as a warning upon Tino. Søren may not be the most sensitive person but even he felt that Hákon did not like something about this subject. So better to press this even more.  
"So Sigurd has no spouse that I should know?" Søren asked nonchalantly and took another sip of his now much better tasting coffee.  
"No, he has not," said Hákon, displeasure quickly flashing over his features.  
"And proba-" Tino was cut off by another glare of Hákon. "A-anyways, Sigurd owns all of this and trains the horses, as well as teaching. Basically, everything that involves the animals concerns him. Hákon here helps Sigurd but focuses on the Icelandic horses as he actually learnt in Iceland for a while and if there's a lot to do he helps out with lessons." Søren raised a surprised brow at that boy. Not too bad for a teenager.  
"And Berwald is here for the guests and their needs. Plus, he writes crime novels whenever he has time and gets them even published. And between seasons he builds furniture as a hobby. Most of the furniture in the main house are his work." Now Søren was mildly impressed. But what else was there to do in the mountains when no guests were there. Maybe he could do the same? Write a book about boredom and misery.  
"That sounds very versatile of him," was his only comment. He had first to process all of this new information and potential mysteries.  
"Anyways," Hákon began again, having relaxed against the back rest, now that the subject was changed, "As you told us that you would be an experienced rider I will let my brother do the assessment. He'll be able to see better what you have to work on and you can tell him directly your wishes of what you want to do here."  
 _Nothing,_ Søren thought. "That seems reasonable but hardly necessary."  
"It's standard procedure to see which horse will fit best especially as you stay here longer than just for a week."  
Søren shrugged. "I can ride every horse. Me too, I am … very versatile." _Or more skilled than you mountain folks.  
_ Hákon furrowed his brows for a short moment but then a mischievous smirk played across his face.  
"That is good to hear. I am sure Sigurd will be very happy to have such a skilled rider for once."  
 _More skilled than him anyways. I have not seen one ribbon claiming that any of you participated in competitions. Luckily these horses can't jump anyways…  
_ "We will see then tomorrow," Søren said, pushing the thought of jumping far back.

The evening came and went. Søren finally got his wifi password, answered some concerned messages with his everlasting optimism, looked at the videos from the competition, sat on his bed for half an hour sunken in his thoughts, checked again who won the preliminaries, played candy crush for an hour.  
At dinner, he got to know the other guests. The Asian couple with a very charming Taiwanese girl together with her Japanese husband. The newlywed couple was on their honey moon and chose a place as far away as possible form their very caring families. Then there was a Swedish family wanting to experience the mountains and the nearby fjord and simultaneously satisfying their daughter's wish to go horseback riding. And that was it. Berwald explained, that Søren arrived just at a time in which most people already drove home and the next wave of guests would hit them in a day or two.

At night Søren was indeed glad to have the furs in the bed as it got surprisingly cold. But the heaters weren't on so he just hoped they worked for the poor guests staying here over winter.  
As he lay there, snuggled up under the blanket he suddenly heard the house door opening and someone silently closing it again. Quick but light steps went down the stairs and even if it probably was Hákon who should know which places creaked more than others he didn't seem to care. Hushed voices started to talk, a coat was hung up. Slowly they approached the bottom of the stairs, getting closer to Søren's room. Laying wide awake now, Søren wanted to listen to their conversation but to his great dismay they talked fast, murmured Norwegian. Of course. But suddenly his eyes widened. He swore he heard his name. Slowly the two climbed back up the stairs and their voices were dimmed out until he could only hear an occasional creaking from the wood above him. _Damn, if Hákon tells Sigurd now that I am a bragger then… Then what? I can ride. I am better than them. I will prove that to this horse hippie Sigurd._


	2. Assessment

The time for proving came after breakfast. After an uneasy sleep Søren jolted awake with his stomach doing a few too many somersaults than he wanted, seeing that it was just an assessment of his high skills somewhere in the mountains with a man who only rode fluffy ponies. He needn't to worry. And still he picked his newest breeches, a polo shirt and even cleaned his shoes. A first impression goes a long way and like that he would even stand out before he sat on pony-back. He ruffled his hair and stepped outside.

As it was nice weather breakfast was served outside and to his dismay he was the first one. He'd have liked a nice chat and as he silently munched on his slice of bread with Norwegian cheese he was forced to listen to the early sounds at the barn. The birds were chirping and the bees were awake already too, buzzing from one forest flower to the next gardenia in a pot. From inside the house he could hear Berwald rummaging in the kitchen. The sun was already high up and promised a warm day and Søren closed his eyes to enjoy the warmth on his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he had such a peaceful breakfast.

Normally he would discuss now the plans for the day or tell Edvard his shenanigans of last night. Naturally cutting out what had happened even later on together with Laura. Søren sighed. He missed both of them. The warm smile and gentle hands and her cheerful laugh. Her feet in those new black heels she showed him, lifting her skirt despite it only reaching to her knees anyways. The red lipstick.  
Edvard on the other hand would silently listen to him unless they were drinking. Or smoking some of his pot to wind down after a stressful season. His green eyes being locked on him when Søren told him something. His steadiness and short remarks. Their chuckling when watching young horses playing together on the field.

But neither of them was here. He didn't even know whether or not Laura even still wanted to be around him. Not after the scene she made. Not after she had kicked him out and told him to fuck off and find his sense of humanity again.  
The coffee had turned cold and bitter, despite the sugar inside it and Søren decided that now was the time to finally get the assessment over with. So, he stood up and walked down the porch and over the gravel way towards the stable. That was surely the place to start.

The stable was empty. That much Søren could make out after his eyes got used to the dim lighting. Dust danced in the strips of light falling in from the windows but the hallway looked freshly cleaned. The boxes were of appropriate size and nothing unnecessary was lying around. Now what? No horses, no assessment. But once here he could as well take a look around. One could learn quite a bit form the owner if one looked inside of the stables. The first box had a name plate with waves and fishes carved and painted onto it. "Rån», the goddess of the sea. The next box said "Brage" and was decorated with sheet music and some runes carved into it. Fitting for the god of poetry and bards. Creative but oh so cliché. Søren wanted to sneer but… in reality those names were kind of better than some of the ones he was used to. He shook his head and continued his way. The names continued on in Norse fashion.

As he reached the middle he could see a big double winged door of which the upper half was cut off, which led into the riding hall. What Søren was looking for though was the tack room. That was always interesting to inspect, especially here where he didn't know what to expect. Maybe here it would be untidy or filled with some special tack for some special mountain folks. Or it would be like any other tack room. When he reached the end, he spotted a door going to the left. That must be it. He opened it and was surprised at how light the room was despite having no windows. The lights were switched on and all he could see first was saddle upon saddle neatly hung up at the wall in front of him.  
"I don't like strangers wandering around my stables alone."  
Søren jumped and turned around.

There in the corner stood a man glaring at him. He managed to look hostile and annoyed without moving his features too much. Slightly furrowed brows, lips tense, the perfected intense glare and the posture that dared him to just move one step closer, with only crossed arms and a lifted, proud head. Of course, this man had to be blonde as well. But the eyes were of the darkest blue Søren had ever seen and his body was lean but athletic as the arms in short sleeves promised him. Søren's heart stopped for a second and instantly beat faster. This man would assess him and Søren had it in his guts that he would not excuse any mistakes. Not with him at least.  
"I'm sorry I was just looking for Sigurd to assess my riding skills?" Søren automatically mimicked the man and crossed his arms as well. But his weapon was not the glare but the smile.  
"You found him but you ought to have waited outside," Sigurd said and unfolded his arms. In one hand, he held a halter and a rope that had went unnoticed by Søren until now. So, Sigurd would have been looking for him if he hadn't been faster. And what kind of rule was that anyways that no strangers were allowed into the stables? What could you do if you didn't find the people you were looking for?  
"Well, no one told me to do that," Søren retorted.  
"Then Hákon must have… forgotten to tell you." Sigurd's lip twitched shortly. If in annoyance at his brother or something else, Søren couldn't make out.  
"Let's go outside then and get you your horse," Sigurd said and walked past Søren outside, who stepped aside to not brush against that hostile man. He closed the door behind him and followed the fast, determined steps of that Sigurd.  
"You wrote in the registration that your riding level was experienced. How experienced?" Sigurd didn't spare him a look as he asked it and Søren took a second to notice that he was talking to him.  
"Very. Riding since I am five, and now I participate in show jumping competitions in Denmark." No need to tell this Sigurd that he was the new hope of Denmark to one day win Gold at the Olympics, training in an elite barn in the Netherlands together with other prodigies. In the end, they would expect him to… teach them. Or something like that.  
"Anything special you want to work on whilst you stay here?" Sigurd inquired further. The sunlight made his light hair appear platinum now and his high cheekbones stood out more. Søren shrugged and looked away.  
"Nothing really. Just relaxing I guess," he said eventually. There was nothing he could do here that would benefit him aside of gathering his energy to get back on track with jumping.  
"Any wishes for the horse?" Sigurd asked, stopping in front of the gate of one of the pastures.  
 _'Horse', just admit they are fluffy ponies._ "No, I like a challenge and can ride… anything." Smirking. That always managed to build up his confidence. And he did not lie. He could do it. Sigurd looked at him with his sceptical eyes but nodded finally.  
"Alright, Hákon already told me something like that."  
He turned towards the horses, inhaled through his nose and called with his deep voice.  
"Odin!"  
A cream coloured head lifted from the herd grazing in the shadows of a tree. Slowly the Fjord horse walked away from his companions, started to trot and had his ears pointed towards the two men at the gate. Søren couldn't even say he was disappointed. He already expected something like that. A pony with a thick neck, a dense and long mane, short and strong legs and the gentle dark circled eyes. And this pony carried the name of the mighty Odin.  
"They all listen to their names. Practical when tourists trail behind the group or someone loses his horse," explained Sigurd as he opened the gate and handed halter and rope to Søren.  
"Won't be necessary for me though," Søren grumbled. Even though it spared him from walking across the pasture chasing the horse he was going to mount.

Odin was quickly cleaned from dust and some little mud on his legs. Sigurd let him work on his own and just watched a good two metres away. As his face did not let on what he thought, Søren deemed it best to just ignore him and only follow his standard routine. The only thing Sigurd helped with was bringing him saddle, pad and a bridle. To Søren's relief it was a simple black eventing saddle, one could find in every pony club. Also, the bit was nothing too special, all normal. Judging from that, Odin couldn't be any more special than the tack. Easy.

Until Søren had to mount his pony. He stepped on the small stool outside in the arena, held the reins, took a deep breath, hoped Odin wouldn't fuck it up and mounted. He expected Odin to immediately starting to walk as so many horses did and so he held up his reins and giving it a soft pull. But Odin hadn't moved and so he threw his head up and stepped backwards at the wrong signal. Great.  
The stirrups fit in length, checking on the saddle girth and then Søren finally gave the sign to move forwards. Odin started to walk relaxed and Søren was surprised to find that this gentle movement wasn't too far away from what he was used to. Surprisingly comfortable. Too close to the ground though and they were too slow.  
Sigurd in the meantime made himself comfortable, sitting on the fence in the corner. His eyes never leaving horse and rider who slowly made their turns in the arena, getting warmed up. It was perfect weather for a ride. Sun shining and a soft breeze playing with his hair. Nothing could serve Søren as an excuse. No rain with its puddles, no heat making horses lazy nor a harsh wind and its cold, making them freaky. Here Søren could really show what kind of a rider he was.

Søren had his hands full with getting used to the new horse. His eyes glanced more than once to Sigurd and how right beside him some cavalettis and poles were piled up. But before he could let his mind wander too far, or guessing whether or not Sigurd would build him an obstacle, Odin would throw his head in the air, trot almost on place or stop. Why couldn't this horse just move forward when he notched it with his legs? After only some minutes he was huffing and his face turned red out of multiple reasons but finally this horse moved forwards more regularly and even somewhat collected. He galloped a few rounds, managed a flying change and made sure that Odin was properly flexed and working. He had it in his feeling that Sigurd would not signal him when to stop as he surely wanted to see if Søren knew when it was time to do so. And since he managed to do all he wanted to do with Odin and showing that he could even manage to make this complicated if not maybe a bit lazy horse moving with power his job was done here. He gave Odin a pat and let him walk with lose reins over to Sigurd, who had not changed much since he had sat down.

"See? I can handle any pony," Søren smiled. Thanks to the high fence Sigurd was sitting on they were almost eye level with Søren sitting on the horse. Pony. Whatever. "Even one like Odin."  
"A honest horse," Sigurd stated and reached out with his hand to pat Odin's nose which he willingly moved forward, embracing the affection.  
"Honest?" Søren asked bewildered. This hose was anything but honest. Elsinore had been honest. But Odin? All he had done was interpreting him wrong. As if they indeed spoke different languages. Close in family but still not understandable.  
"Yes. You are nervous and frustrated that much I could see from you and what Odin has shown me," Sigurd looked directly into Søren's eyes and the uneasy feeling from before returned. If he let him, Sigurd would be able to read his mind.  
"I am not nervous. This is nothing for me," Søren defended himself. "I have ridden more difficult horses."  
"That may be but now you are. Tell me, why are you here?" Sigurd asked as he jumped off the fence into the sand.  
"Because a friend told me so."  
"And that is why you payed so much to stay here for weeks?"  
"Well…" Søren thought of what to say, some good argument. Something to shut this man up.  
"What do you want to do here? Learn? Relax? For adventure?"  
"No, not really. My friend Edvard said I should go-"  
"And then you walk around here thinking you are better than anyone, that our horses are beneath you and that all of this is just a waste of time," Sigurd summarised in a matter of fact tone. But Søren could hear the annoyance, the knowing better, the curiosity underneath the attacks. Hákon must have told Sigurd indeed of how he had behaved and what and more importantly, how he had said things. Søren was at a loss of words and no matter what he would say, Sigurd would bite back. Was this how someone treated customers? If yes, then this barn would fall to bankruptcy in just a few years.  
"I will not be attacked like that as a paying customer," was all Søren said and with élan he jumped off the horse.  
"I will not have my horses be ridden by you alone without supervision. Not with that much frustration built up inside of you."  
"I don't even want to ride your fluffy ponies." Now Søren's cheeks turned red and he clenched his hands into fists. This hermit really thinks he was better than him. That he was some kind of child needing supervision. That he was not good enough. "There is nothing I can learn from them, you cannot teach me and my problem won't-" Søren shut up. Once again, he spoke faster than he thought.  
"So there _is_ a problem," Sigurd picked up and he raised a brow. The annoyance had vanished a bit and curiosity had shown its face for a second.  
"Nothing you are going to be able to solve," Søren spat out and turned on his heels. He stomped away, leaving Sigurd to think whatever the hell he wanted about him. This strange mountain hippie didn't know anything. About horseback riding, his problems or how to treat customers. The only thing this man could actually do was guessing correctly. That was all.

Once inside his room Søren didn't know what to do. In fact, there was nothing to do. Reading or writing his friends would not do. Riding was no option. He paced about in his room, his eyes looking at everything and nothing. His hands twitched. He needed to move, to do something. He needed to let his frustration out.  
Søren stopped. Yeah, he was indeed frustrated. But he didn't know what to do about it, and so he continued to pace.  
Knocks on his door ripped him out of his thoughts and he stopped in his short tracks.  
"Come in," he said and turned fully towards the door. It was Hákon who slowly opened the door and only stepped in half ways.  
"I am going to take the Kiku family out for a ride in the forest. Sigurd told me that you were a good rider. Would you want to help me with them? They know pretty much nothing about horses."  
Søren hesitated. So in the eyes of that hippie he was bad yet still good enough to help? If Sigurd himself would have asked the answer would have clearly been no, but … He liked to help. Always had. And it would get him on different thoughts than that dark eyed freak and his wild guessing.  
"Alright."

Søren was assigned to help the man who he got to know as Honda Kiku. Polite, calm, patient, and he knew almost nothing indeed about horses. And so Søren was fully occupied helping him and explaining everything from safety instructions, brushing, saddling up and how to sort out the bridle. Lucky for them the horse he got was patient and very calm as well. Unlike Søren's new horse, Skogul, who pawed and played with the rope at which she was bound out of boredom. She was one of the Icelandic horses, a bit smaller even than Odin, slimmer and sorrel coloured. Her saddle was also strange, as it was flatter but almost shaped as a dressage one. Hákon explained him that he needed to saddle her a bit further back than he'd normally do, to give her more freedom to move.

A good half an hour later they were all mounted and made their way out of the barn, Søren feeling absolutely ridiculous. How was this horse even supposed to carry him for an hour and if it only was in walk? His legs stretched longer than Skogul's barrel so he could only nudge her with his calves instead of his heels. Not that he would have worn any spurs anyways. Hákon had commanded him to have the stirrups elongated despite of what Søren had learned how to adjust them for when he went for a hack.

Hákon rode in front of them, Kiku and Lin after and Søren would look after that none of them would lose the group. It would be quite boring as they could do nothing else than walk with the beginners, if not Skogul had an apparent want to be faster than allowed. So he always had to keep an eye on her and nudge her with his reins at the right time to hinder her running up into the other horse's rear.

The weather held and as it grew even warmer Søren was glad that soon after leaving the gravel they were already deep inside the forest. Small patches of sun illuminated the way in front of them and every time such a ray flew over him it felt like a warm touch. Birds were singing and Insects buzzed around. The air was a bit humid, carrying the scent of fresh soil, water and rotting plants of a pond, the aroma of chopped wood, filtered through the living and working leaves. Søren took a deep breath and slowly relaxed. Even Skogul calmed down after a moment.

They left the broad path that was made for tractors to go on a small trail leading them uphill. Lin laughed when her horse would rip off some leaves of some poor tree but it always found its way on his own without her having to do anything else than sitting on it. It went on uphill for quite a while and the horses huffed from time to time but they didn't grow slower. No, Søren had the feeling that Skogul actually was content on finally having to use her strength. Not bad for a fluffy pony.

All four riders were silent when they reached the top of the hill, where the trees were recently cut down, offering them a view over the mountains around them. In the distance Søren could even make out a long slim streak of blue, walled with cliffs and a receding line of forest. The fjord.  
Kiku fished out his phone from his jeans pocket and took some pictures. Hákon started to point at some hills and at the fjord and told the tourists the names and some fun facts.

Søren however wasn't really interested and instead looked down at the mane of Skogul. Now that he was already seated on her he kind of wanted to try out how it would feel like to tölt. That special gait of the Icelandic horses which is said to be extremely comfortable at varying speeds. Some of them even possessed a fifth gait, the pace, which was usually ridden fast. He bit his lip and patted Skogul who took the liberated reins as a sign that she could graze. Just because he couldn't particularly learn from these ponies or feeling the freedom from jumping, it didn't mean he couldn't want to experience new things, right?

The ride back was as uneventful as it was before. Lin and Kiku had started to talk to each other and would sometimes ask Hákon the one or other thing, leaving Søren isolated and silent in the back. That was until they reached the broad path for the tractors. Here Hákon made them halt and looked at Søren with a tilted head.  
"You were so silent all the way."  
"Well I didn't want to destroy the atmosphere."  
"Must have been a bit boring for such an experienced rider such as you."  
Søren shrugged but his face heated up as he felt the eyes of the couple on him.  
"N-no. It was alright." He smiled and leaned back. "I got a nice view out of it and it was relaxing."  
"Want some action now?" Hákon had a sly smile on his lips and had his hands placed on the wither of his black horse and propped himself up on it.  
Søren didn't like this kind of smile. "Sure," he said.  
"Have Skogul walking, sit a bit back in your saddle, nudge her with the legs and shorten your reins."  
"And then?"  
"Then you tölt until you see our barn. When you are there make her walk another round to cool her down."  
"Okay," he said and rode past the couple, was level with Hákon who still observed him and was then past them.  
Søren's heart beat faster and he had to supress his smile. Don't show them you are actually excited. Something in his mind told him that he should be careful with a person who could smile like that but he was too busy making Skogul advance to think twice about it.  
He did as Hákon told him to: made her walk, shortened his reins, sat back, and nudged- Skogul practically exploded underneath him but it was comfortable. Søren sat on a comfortable and controlled explosion. The wind blew in his face, the quick steps echoed through the forest and his hands were entirely covered by the long mane which flew up. He laughed and nudged Skogul even further and she grew quicker. Now they were almost as fast as they would be cantering and Søren could sit in this saddle forever. His body barely moved and it felt like floating.

Much too fast the forest opened and he saw the red of the stables through the bushes and trees. He slowed Skogul down and got back into his normal seating position. She huffed and stretched her neck as he gave her more reins. He made her walk a small round around the stables as Hákon told him to, before he met the others in front of the building. He hadn't managed to get the smile off of his lips but Hákon only smiled back at him knowingly before he dismounted to go and help Lin and Kiku.


	3. Pride

'How are the mountains?'  
'Higher than at home'  
'Netherlands is as flat as a pancake, tell me something new'  
'I tölted yesterday'  
'Comfortable, isn't it?'  
'Yes, but I felt so ridiculous on that small fluffy pony'  
'So you think the Vikings felt ridiculous too? You call your ancestors ridiculous?'  
'Don't be ridiculous'  
'I thought you were the ridiculous one?'  
'Edvard. Stop.'  
'Ok. Had already a lesson with Sigurd?'  
'That hermit hippie? Not directly.'  
'Interesting choice of words.'  
'But true. Why did you even send me up here?'  
'Because it will help you.'  
'If you want to build up my self-esteem by me being surrounded by those fluffs and rude people, your plan didn't work out.'  
'Just ask Sigurd for help.'  
'He can't help me.'  
'How would you know?'  
'How would /you/ know?'  
'I just do.'  
'No, tell me.'  
'I don't want to spoil the fun.'  
'Please'  
'Ask him yourself. He doesn't like his life spilled out by strangers.'  
'He hates me.'  
'He is just shy.'  
'Shy.'  
'And nobody likes his horses being ridiculed by a ridiculous Viking.'  
'Too late'  
'Just try to be yourself and don't force anything. Just be like in the old days.'  
'What do you mean by that?'  
'That sometimes dismounting the tall horse and riding a smaller one helps changing perspective.'

Søren huffed and put his phone aside. Edvard was a cryptic man indeed. Sigurd apparently as well. His eyes wandered from his phone towards the window through which he could see a horse move in the distance. Someone was riding in the outdoor arena. Maybe Sigurd was giving that Swedish girl a lesson. He would take this opportunity to check out those teaching skills Edvard had hinted at.

Already on his way towards the arena he saw in the distance the girl he thought was riding outside, reading a book in the shade of her cottage. Which meant that either Sigurd or Hákon were riding that horse. Now that Søren definitely didn't want to miss and so he quickened his pace, turned to his right and finally saw him.

What he saw made him slow down more and more until he stopped with some distance to the fence as he didn't want to interrupt the pair. There was a Fjord horse, its mane standing upright as it was so typical for that race when their hair was shortened. It still had that compact body and the thick neck but now the body radiated collectedness, control, power and an aura of a veteran knight, whose sword play was perfected. Powerful and graceful, despite the bulky armour and weapon.

On him was an unmovable dancer. Body was neither tense, nor relaxed. He barely moved and still, the horse understood every cue and seemed to move under a ghost. Sigurd's face was concentrated but Søren didn't see any strain. The pair galloped past him, took the diagonal, made a flying change every second stride. The tail flung around sassily, the sun made the smooth summer coat shine and Søren didn't know where he should put his eyes. The moving or unmoving legs? The muscled arms and shoulders framing all the power or the broad cream coloured neck? Both faces of the Norwegians were marvelling to look at, or the Atlantean movements of the horse, or the precise and barely visible cues from the other.

Sigurd didn't seem to have noticed him and Søren didn't notice Hákon coming over, a saddled horse in tow, walking over the grass to be more silent.  
"Nice view, huh?"  
Søren jumped and turned around. There was Hákon smirking at him, again, knowingly. If he lost 10 years with every jump scare he got out here he would be dead by tomorrow.  
"I didn't know-"  
"-that Fjord 'ponies' could do dressage?"  
"-that you were here."  
Hákon shrugged and stroked with one hand over the neck of his horse.  
"Sure."  
Søren slowly turned around again and he felt a short stab of disappointment when he saw Sigurd already giving his walking horse the long reins. He was done.  
"You know, there is no shame in riding smaller horses," Hákon said far too casually.  
"I know," bit Søren out.  
"And no shame in accepting help. Especially when you already pay for it." So wise for his age.  
"So Sigurd told you?"  
"He just said that he noticed you had some sort of problem which you need to get rid of to continue showing with your horses."  
Søren huffed and rolled his eyes towards Hákon. "He is good at guessing."  
"He has learnt to read horses, and people."  
"And you think he can help me? Looks like he is more the dressage rider than a show jumper."  
Hákon shrugged at that and looked aside.  
"You need to let you be helped first. But Sigurd…"  
Søren waited for Hákon to find the right words. He wasn't able to miss out anything now anyways.  
"…he is interested in you." Hákon made an awkward face and looked then with a serious expression at Søren. "Not in that way, but in wanting to know what moves you."  
Søren looked aside and scratched himself behind his ear.  
"Oh, sure."  
"Just go and talk with him. He is though, he can handle one like you."  
"Hey!" he exclaimed and reclined playing being offended.  
"Wow, you actually have a sense of humour inside of you," Hákon said. "But I'll leave you, your sense of humour and Sigurd alone now." He nudged his horse softly on the reins and walked away towards the racing track. "Remember to be honest."  
Søren was left standing beside the entrance to the outside arena, waiting until Sigurd approached him on foot, sweaty horse in tow.

"Want to help me shower my girl?" Sigurd asked as he walked up to Søren after he had cooled down his horse. He had seen Hákon and Søren talk with each other. Maybe Søren did make some progress since yesterday.  
Søren only nodded and walked silently alongside the pair. He helped unsaddle the horse, held the tack as Sigurd took on the halter and put it then into the tack room, following Sigurd's exact instructions. All of this he did silently, deep in his thoughts. Part of his mind still repeated the different impressions he got from watching the pair, another part was sorting out his feelings he had about what he saw, and a bigger part was occupied with overcoming himself and to ask for help. Or at least that Sigurd would take a look at his problem and suggest what he could do about it. Maybe a hippie hermit had some magic tricks up his sleeve?

He followed the Norwegians outside and held the horse during the quick shower Sigurd gave her. And finally, eventually, when she was released back to the pasture, he faced Sigurd who watched her being greeted by the other animals with an affectionate gaze.  
"Sigurd…" he began and stopped again. He looked down at his feet and swallowed. Not asking would only make him a coward in Hákon's and Edvard's eyes. "Would you try and help me with my problem?"  
He didn't get an answer and so he looked up again. His eyes met those dark ones, looking more serious now but they still carried some of the softness from before.  
"If you stop belittling our horses?"  
"Yeah," he chuckled and rubbed his neck with his hand as he glanced over to the herd. "Yeah, I think that would only be fair."  
"Good."  
"So…" Søren began but was silenced by Sigurd taking a step towards him, only to turn on his heels to the right and walking to the main house.  
"Tell me during lunch."  
All Søren was left with was to follow the long elegant legs back to the ice palace.

Sigurd sat at the head of the large dinner table and served himself a homemade vegetable soup and prepared a slice of bread with ham. Søren only took some bread with cheese and salami. He hadn't done anything yet today aside of writing a report to his sponsors and bickering around with Edvard, and so he wasn't in need of as much food as the other was.  
Once ready to eat Sigurd set his eyes on Søren, blinking once, and even though his facial features didn't tell much, Søren felt he was asked to begin explaining.  
"So, my problem is that I can't…" His chest was heavy and it felt like it tensed up even more thinking in detail about it. Søren took a deep breath trying to relax. Closing his eyes for a brief moment he tried to force out the truth, but his mind blocked him.  
"… I just get really nervous nowadays when I am on a horse after my accident."  
Sigurd slowly nodded and took a sip of his water before answering.  
"Having flashbacks?"  
Søren nodded and looked down at his bread. His mouth was dry.  
"Yes."  
"Horror scenarios playing out in your head?"  
"I try to push them away when they start playing."  
"No matter where you ride and which horse?"  
This time Søren had to think back. Since the accident he had ridden more different horses than he did before. The problem stayed the same. He was almost sure about that.  
"Yes."  
"Even on the hack with Skogul?" Sigurd inquired. "Hákon didn't mention anything."  
Søren tilted his head and tried to project his thoughts to back when he was on Skogul.  
"She was a bit nervous in the beginning but she calmed down after a while, so no."  
Sigurd nodded slowly and scraped out with his spoon some leek and other pieces of vegetable.  
"So if we put you in a different setting, with relaxing elements, a slow pace, no expectations, a new and for you unthreatening seeming horse, you aren't nervous."  
"But that's hardly possible to do every time. Especially not when I need to train or go on a competition!" Søren retorted and crossed his arms. He knew it. Sigurd would convert him to his hippie-ism.  
"No, but now we know where to begin."  
Søren huffed and raised a brow. "With slow and boring walks in the forest?"  
"Not entirely, no." Sigurd put his spoon on his plate and he was done with the soup. He fixed Søren with his eyes and his lips curled up ever so slightly. "And trust me, it won't be boring for long."  
"If you say so? You are the trainer, I guess."

As they were finishing their quick chat the other guests joined them but Sigurd only greeted them by nodding. Søren however smiled at Lin and chatted with her about her impressions during their small trip yesterday. How wonderful the nature was, that she would surely come back one day with her children to come, that she absolutely adores the cute horses and how thankful she was for Søren's and Hákons patience. But Søren also got to talk about his years of experience, leaving out however how good he has gotten by now, seeing that Sigurd was probably listening.

Once that Søren finished his sandwich in between of chatting with Lin, Sigurd stood up and motioned with his head towards the door.  
"Let's start now as long as you don't change your mind."  
Søren looked up and smirked.  
"I'm not a quitter." He stood up as well and returned the smirk to Lin as well. "It was nice talking to you. A good rest of the meal I wish you."  
And he followed Sigurd outside.

To Søren's dismay he got Odin again. Sigurd only explained it courtly:  
"A very sensitive horse. Honest too. He will tell you immediately if something is wrong."  
And so he found himself again on the left side of the cream coloured horse and took a deep breath and mounted. This time he knew better than pulling on the reins and so Odin stood still as Søren checked on everything. He gave Odin a quick pat for being patient and nudged him then forward. Unlike last time Sigurd stood now in the middle of the arena and observed him now even more than before.  
"Just warm up as you would do before a competition," was his order. Already Odin shortened his stride for a moment. But regained it as Søren relaxed his hands again and focused back on his task ahead. Sigurd simply made a mental check at how Søren reacted to that word. Tensed up his hands, his back and legs, giving mixed signals to Odin.

And so it continued, often at the same spot in the Arena. Always on the long side at the right hand. When the pair would pass this spot every now and then Odin would slow down, throw up his head and be confused. Søren on the other hand showed the same tenseness as in the beginning. Not to say that he was not the most relaxed rider anyways.

As Søren was occupied galloping Odin on both hands, Sigurd investigated the long side. He walked up there after the pair had passed him, Odin's tail swishing in tact, huffing contently. Sigurd turned into the direction the pair rode towards and tried to think himself into Søren's position. What could make him nervous, tensed up, maybe even scared? There was the fence surrounding the arena, some pylons, cavalettis and some poles lying on a small bit of concrete. That must be it, Sigurd thought and stepped back into the middle.  
"Søren, come over here," he ordered and waited until Odin stood in front of him with his ears pointing forwards and ready for the real work.  
"I am ready. What are we gonna do?" asked Søren, slightly anxious at what Sigurd might throw at him and still fighting the thought that all of this won't help.  
"Jumping."  
"What?!" Søren yelped out and leaned back, making Odin lifting his head and making a step backwards.  
"You are a show jumper. Surely no problem for you, right?" asked Sigurd and raised a brow.  
"N-no. Of course not." Søren smiled and patted Odin to calm him down. Or himself.  
"If you feel confident enough that is," Sigurd said and locked his eyes on Søren's. Søren's heart sank. This man could read minds indeed. But he will show him. He could jump. He had his pride and he wouldn't lose it to Sigurd.

The small jump was quickly built up. Sigurd first put up two poles in a way that they formed a small x, making the jump very small. Søren directed Odin towards it, made Odin galopp in the perfect pace and jumped it. Sigurd changed the cross into a vertical, not higher than 60 cm. Once again, Odin arrived in the perfect pace and jumped it with Søren. Sigurd could see that this man was a good jumper, with a perfect posture and conduct before, above and after the jump, despite it surely being weird to jump with such a different horse than Søren must be used to.

The jump grew higher. Now they were at a meter and Sigurd could see how Søren hesitated for a second before Odin's legs left the ground.  
Sigurd knew Odin couldn't jump a single obstacle higher than a meter twenty. For that they would need Thor. But Thor wouldn't show him and Søren the truth in the way that Odin would. Odin was indeed like the all-father. Not only was he a Nordic horse, but as the god himself this horse could extract the truth out of a person. Reacted to his environment faster and more sensitive than the other horses. Almost as if he could see into the future.

At one meter ten, Odin slowed down more and more in front of the jump but with such an experienced rider on his back he felt the cue of Søren's legs and jumped it anyways. At one meter twenty Odin slowed down again but nothing that Søren did made the horse get back on track and so he stopped in front of the poles, chewing on his bit and having his ears rotate in different directions, waiting for the right signals, for the reassuring.  
"So our experienced rider has his limits at one meter twenty," Sigurd stated and observed Søren. Face red, tensed up hands, frowning at the obstacle, at him and back at Odin.  
"Let me try again," Søren bit out and made Odin turn, gallop and guided him on a straight line back to the obstacle. The pace was quicker this time but Odin still slowed down more and more and his stop in front of the obstacle was as foreseen by Sigurd as it was abrupt.  
"You sense the risk Søren. You are tens-"  
"Let me try again." Søren spat and turned Odin around.  
"But then listen to me," Sigurd said and stepped into Odin's way, gripping on the reins.  
"As you are now you will only hurt yourself and possibly Odin."  
Søren glared at Sigurd and bit the inside of his cheek.  
"Sure Odin can even jump this high?" Søren asked scornfully.  
"Yes, I jumped with him this high. Now will you listen to my instructions or do we talk?"  
Søren lowered his glare and looked down at his boots. Both options were not in his mind.  
"Søren, I do not want you hurt. I think I figured out your problem so I would say we rather talk instead of forcing yourself and Odin."  
Søren remained silent, looking down on Odin's whither.  
"I think you had a horrible accident in a competition. You tensed up at that word, making Odin go slower and throwing up his head."  
Silence. So Sigurd continued:  
"I think also that it must have happened over a jump. So no slipping, bucking or bolting."  
Søren felt his chest burning, his hands hurt from clutching on the reins. He needed to make Sigurd shut up. He tried it with his glare but that was Sigurd's expertise, as that man just continued talking, seemingly unfazed.  
"You had an accident over a jump and it must have involved a great injury on you or your horse as falling off on itself is-"  
"SHUT UP!" Søren yelled. He was lucky Sigurd was holding Odin's reins as the horse would have made a big jump otherwise. So he used the momentum of Odin's movement to the side to jump off. Sigurd was right with one thing – he wasn't himself at the moment.  
"You know nothing!" Søren trembled on his whole body, his face turned red, his sight blurry.  
"You know nothing about what happened that day. You weren't there, you didn't see it."  
Sigurd remained calm, petting Odin's neck to calm the horse down, but having his eyes steadfast on Søren, listening.  
"Tell me then."  
"You…" Søren gasped for air. "You didn't fall off, you didn't feel the pain and you weren't the one hearing her in pain. Not the one…" He struggled, held his breath, closed his eyes, suppressed a sob. "You weren't the one watching her die." His cheeks were wet and he stared at the ground. His voice was coarse, breaking. "And It wasn't your fault."  
Sigurd let go of Odin's reins and stepped closer to Søren, taking a hold of his upper arm.  
"I am sorry." He looked into Søren's teary eyes. After a second Søren returned the look, his lower lip trembling. The hand on his arm felt like the only thing keeping him upright, something strong. He too stepped in and after blinking, and seeing no malice, no sarcasm, just honest care in those blue eyes, he opened his arms and hugged Sigurd. He needed more of this steadfast reassurance.

Sigurd was too surprised to push Søren away. Normally he would have instantly made sure to get two metres away of any person hugging him out of the blue but he understood that Søren needed this. Needed someone to care. Needed some reassurance. And so he held Søren and didn't move until he gave sign.  
As they parted Sigurd said with a stern look and a dead serious expression:  
"Please refrain from hugging me out of the blue again."  
Søren only nodded and grabbed Odin's reins again, the horse had been standing there the whole time without moving.  
"Sorry."  
"It's fine as long as you respect my boundaries from now on."  
"Alright, I will," Søren mustered his smile back up again and began to walk out of the arena, alongside Sigurd.  
"…So, are you going to help me?" he asked eventually, looking at the other man.  
Sigurd was silent, furrowing his brows, taking a deep breath and then looking directly at Søren.  
"I am not a therapist. You need to be aware of that," he paused, but Søren only looked back into the dark eyes, not objecting.  
"I can _help_ you going back trusting your horses and yourself again and maybe that will get you over your trauma. But I cannot promise anything, and I may not be the healthiest to work with."  
Again, Søren did not object but said:  
"My friend seems to trust you, you figured out my problem without knowing me, and you may be just strange enough to help my desperate ass."  
That made Sigurd snort and Søren could swear he was smirking, just a little bit at least.  
"Alright. Now that you admitted your desperation to yourself, we are a big step further than we were yesterday."  
"Great!"  
"But we have a long way to go. Don't have any illusions on that," Sigurd added. Søren's kind of people always wanted things to go quick, to have immediate progress, getting better on the spot.  
"And I thought you were a horse wizard" Søren laughed as he exchanged bridle against halter as they had reached the wall of the stables, where they prepared the horses. He could feel how everything suddenly seemed lighter. Especially his shoulders and mood.  
"I may be strange, but no wizard," Sigurd retorted as he opened the saddle girth and handing it to Søren under Odin's belly.  
"Now I am disappointed."  
"Didn't look that way when you watched me ride."  
Now Søren's face flushed red. He had seen him. He had seen him how Søren watched unmoving for several minutes. Søren couldn't even say how much time had passed with him standing on the grass, watching the pair dancing in the sand.  
"I didn't know you were a dressage rider."  
"Everyone is at some extent. It is the basis of everything."  
"I know that much," Søren said rolling his eyes. It's the one thing his coach said almost every session.  
"But in terms of competition, I was not a dressage rider."  
Søren blinked. He waited for Sigurd to continue, but the man had disappeared with the saddle and bridle in hand.

He took the brush and dusted Odin off, parting the sentence Sigurd left him with. So he participated in competitions. But in the past, as the 'was' indicated. So another discipline. Maybe show jumping as well? Maybe that was why Edvard sent him here, to learn from someone who had some experience with competitions in show jumping but stopped early, to follow other fields of equestrianism? In that case Søren might be able to look Sigurd up a bit closer. His name was surely listed in some results for competitions, or on some starters list with maybe some winners mention on a barn's website.

Sigurd returned again, leaning against the wall and watching Søren finishing up cleaning.  
"So, started in competitions as well?" Søren would try it first with the honest way, he told himself. Always best to get information from the primary source.  
"Yes, but I stopped when I was around twenty." Sigurd's voice sounded casual. Too casual? It was hard to tell with him.  
"Why?"  
"I didn't like the people," Sigurd said. "When you are done you can bring Odin back to the pasture. I have to go and take care of something." And he turned around, not waiting for an answer.  
Søren patted the strong neck of Odin as he watched Sigurd leave in the direction of the main house.  
"Odin, if you can't tell me things about Sigurd, I'll have to be sneaky."  
But Odin gave no answer. He only looked at Søren with his dark eyes, until he lifted his head and looked towards a man passing by in a sky blue overall, carrying a red metal box in his hand and waving friendly towards Søren.  
"Thanks for the tip, Odin," Søren said and watched Tino disappear into the stable.


	4. Training

Sigurd didn't show up for dinner, but everybody else was there. Berwald was serving a huge tray of lasagne this evening accompanied with different salads and the hungry families and men didn't hesitate to taste it all. Søren was conveniently seated between Hákon and Tino, not without some quick thinking, as he has had smiled brightly at Tino and waved at him, making him chose "voluntarily" to sit beside him. But first he'd address Hákon:  
"Sigurd isn't hungry?"  
"He is on a hack and has some food with him," was his explanation. Søren noticed he saw Hákon with a clean shirt for the first time. The black was a true black and the red band name stood out brightly.  
"He likes his alone-time, huh?"  
Hákon made a strange face and shrugged.  
"He's an introvert. And in his position, you don't get time alone very often unless you are on horseback."  
"True," Søren said. And how come someone who was not even thirty years old got to have and manage such a place anyways? But he considered that this would probably touch a sensitive subject such as early parental death. Søren already suspected, that Hákon would protect their privacy with lion teeth. Thus he'd have to turn his head to the left, to the leek of the family.  
"Tino, may I ask you something?"  
Tino swallowed and nodded, smiling at him.  
"Sure, go ahead!"  
"Since when do you work here? Did you know Sigurd for a long time?"  
Tino leaned back and tilted his head, thinking back.  
"It must be eight-seven-ish years by now? Sigurd was looking for people helping him with this place. Old family, old houses you know? And as the old farmhouse wasn't inhabited for a long time, he had to renovate everything. Berwald was a childhood friend and volunteered, and I as his then boyfriend followed suit."  
Søren nodded.  
"So he inherited it from his parents?"  
"Oh no, they are still alive," Tino laughed and shook his head. "But they offered him to live here. The Sigvessons still live in Bergen."  
"And Sigurd chose to be here, even though his family seems to live in the expensive city of Bergen?" Søren asked further. That Sigurd really was a hippie.  
"Yeah, he did," Tino said, glancing quickly at Hákon and looked then back at Søren. "It had something to do with a family scandal," he whispered. But he didn't need to as Hákon was talking with that small Swedish girl about her favourite pony.  
"Do you know what kind of scandal?" Now that quickly got more interesting, Søren had to admit.  
"Yeaaah," Tino looked up at the ceiling, probably trying to recall the details or considering whether or not he could go as far and tell him.  
"Something to do with the stable Sigurd lived and worked at before."  
"They kicked him out?"  
"I can't tell you," Tino sighed apologetically. "And I don't care honestly. Both Sigurd and Hákon don't talk about it anymore." Tino smiled softly yet proud. "Sigurd is a friend and I only judge what I see for myself. And what I see is a gifted person, trying to give horses a good life and helping riders with their problems."  
"I respect that," Søren said. That was it with investigating that Sigurd. He would have to continue on another path then.  
And besides, they were interrupted with the serving of the dessert anyways. Blueberry cake and cookies.

The next morning Sigurd was back, but told Søren to occupy himself until the afternoon, as he had to work on some paper work first and then ride two other horses. That way Søren found himself helping Hákon again on a hack, this time not only with the young couple, but the Swedish girl joined them as well. They would leave tomorrow, and she wanted to go on a last hack with her favourite Fjordhorse Rån. She told him on their way, that Rån was quite eccentric, as the sea, and Hákon was first reluctant to let her ride that horse, until Sigurd stepped in and let her try. She wanted to try her, as she fell in love with the grey coat and the gentle eyes as that greeted her when she stood by the pasture for the first time.  
"She chose me," the girl grinned and Søren smiled back. Children and horses managed to have a bond that almost seemed magical.

Upon returning, Hákon and Søren gave her time to say good bye. They let her take care of Ran by herself, which left Søren and Hákon standing in the tack room, trying to find an excuse to not separate the far too cute couple. For Hákon, this was easy. He could just take out the saddle he had used and start cleaning it with a special kind of soap to moisturise the leather. For Søren who had nothing of his own in here, it was more difficult. And so he leaned against the door and watched Hákon work.

He had to know about that scandal. He was Sigurd's brother after all. Maybe he'd also know how Edvard and Sigurd got to know each other. Yes, that was a better starting point, than `hey, what did your brother do to create a scandal and get kicked out of a stable, ruining his career and choosing to live a hermit life? By the way, nice shirt.' Søren nodded to himself and set up his curious smile, tucking his thumbs into his waistband, creating a casual look.  
"You know, my friend actually recommended this place and said that Sigurd would be the guy being able to help me. But he refused to tell me how he got to know Sigurd. Do you know the story by any chance?"  
Hákon only looked up briefly before returning to the dark brown leather.  
"Sigurd helps every guest that wishes to pass time here. He also gives lessons and clinics outside. You need to be more specific."  
Søren puffed his cheeks and nodded. Of course.  
"His name is Edvard van de Houten. A Dutch show jumper, quite known actually as he was part of the Dutch Team as the reserve in the last Championships."  
Hákon furrowed his brows slightly, thinking back but not stopping his work.  
"I think I know who you mean. Tall, blonde, smoking and silent?"  
Søren smiled as he nodded.  
"Exactly, that must be Edvard. Can you tell me more?"  
Hákon only smirked and looked at Søren this time, again with that mischievous glance in his eyes.  
"Why don't you ask your friend yourself?"  
"Because he is a damn cryptic and takes fun in letting me run around guessing."  
"I know, why Edvard and Sigurd get along so well," Hákon teased.  
"Then tell me, please," Søren asked with pleading eyes. "They both don't talk much about their past and I need to know."  
"Why?"  
This time it was Søren who had to think a second before answering.  
"Because I want to know more about my friends."  
"Even when they refuse to tell you?"  
"I am too curious, I know," Søren admitted. But both Edvard as well as Sigurd didn't make it easy either.  
"What I can tell you is, that Edvard and Sigurd know each other already for some years and Sigurd did help Edvard occasionally."  
"Did they get to know each other through competitions?" Søren asked. Now he was on the right track.  
"Not directly. Maybe." Hákon sighed and threw the sponge he had in his hand softly into the small bucket with soap water.  
"Please, Hákon," Søren said but in vain.  
"Ask Sigurd and Edvard yourself. I can't decide over what Sigurd wants to share with you over his and Edvard's past."  
Søren sighed in defeat.  
"Alright. See you then for lunch." And he left the tack room with his desire for knowledge burning even brighter in his chest.

Lunch was delicious, Sigurd was silent throughout, Hákon and Berwald on the run between greeting the new guests and eating, Peter and Tino talking about school. Later on Sigurd managed to make the lesson with Søren both boring and interesting at the same time. Walking in circles on Odin, doing breathing exercises with Sigurd explaining what they did, how he could use them and how they would benefit him for the later work, not without always interjecting a body awareness minute so Søren would relax better.

Upon dismounting, Søren felt the hard and crumbling feeling of frustration and yet he was relaxed and relieved. He hated that feeling and he was glad that Sigurd would leave him alone to instead take care of his other tasks. It left him with his thoughts alone, to occupy himself with taking care of Odin, to damn everything here to hell and to then enjoy the sight of Odin joining the other ponies, happily grazing and playing in the field. And this way the days would pass.

In the mornings Søren helped Hákon with the beginners, helping the other guests taking care of the horses, joining them on the hacks, would receive the permission to tölt on the last kilometre, eat lunch, have a frustrating slow lesson with Sigurd only relaxing, breathing, concentrating, sorting his thoughts, feeling himself and the horse move. In the evenings he played board games or cards with the others who seeked company by the main house, wrote to his sponsors, to his friends, would even take out a book from his book shelf and read some. The hunt for Edvard's and Sigurd's past was on hold for the moment.

That was until Sigurd joined Søren to get Odin from the pasture, with his own halter and rope.  
"Today we will mix things up and have some fun," was Sigurd's explanation before he called for the two horses. Odin and Tyr.  
They prepared them each in silence, Søren giddy though, wanting to know what they would do. As he wanted to go and get his saddle, Sigurd stopped him.  
"Have you already mounted bareback?"  
That question bewildered Søren but he nodded.  
"Yeah, when I was younger, I used to do that a lot."  
"Good, then only get the bridle."

When both were mounted in front of the stable, Sigurd made them walk into the forest. Søren's thoughts spun around wildly. For one, the horse's back was very warm and he sat quite comfortably. But it was slippery and he knew he'd have to concentrate to keep his balance should they do anything fancier than walk. For another, Sigurd was riding alongside him, on this dark brown Icelandic horse which had a white mane and tail. He looked completely at ease sitting on the slippery horseback, giving his horse long reins in the beginning.  
"So, I guess we do this to better my balance on horseback and that I won't fall asleep during your lesson?"  
Sigurd raised a brow at that and looked at him amused.  
"And to make you learn to trust yourself and your horse more and maybe even another lesson."  
"Great and you won't keep it boring, as you promised me once upon a time."  
"My lessons and boring? No, of course not. It will get more exciting, fret not," Sigurd retorted without sparing Søren a glance.  
Søren took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. Of course.  
And soon enough, he was trotting uphill, whishing he was riding an Icelandic horse such as Sigurd did, in order that he could instead ride the much more comfortable tölt, as Sigurd did.

After five minutes and a quick gallop, Sigurd slowed down Tyr to a walk and took a turn to his right, leaving the broad way to instead let the horses walk onto a small path. The undergrowth became denser and twigs and leaves brushed over Søren's body and face. He was just about to ask whether Sigurd would lead him to his faerie homestead, when the forest got more light and open and Sigurd made his horse halt.  
"Here I've got a small cross-country track. If you feel up for it, we will have some fun."  
Søren looked around him and truly, there was small jump built out of branches stapled up on each other, a small path leading towards it and continued even farther into the forest. If all the jumps were that small he guessed it would be alright. Right?  
"Sure! Much better than just sitting and breathing in the arena."  
Sigurd's lips twitched upwards for a moment before he turned Tyr around.  
"Hope you can keep up with me," he said as his horse already jumped into gallop.  
Søren swallowed down his growing anxiety and the first question popping up into his head, whether or not it was safe at all to jump here. He gave signal to Odin and followed in a safe distance.

To gallop was much better and he felt how he was more steadfast despite the heightened pace. Then the jump. A jump that would not be forgiving. Nothing would fall down or yield to the pressure of something touching, running into, falling onto it. Sigurd already flew over it with ease, almost perfect conduct before, over and after the jump. It was definitely not the first time for him to jump such an obstacle. Gritting his teeth, he relaxed his shoulders, reassured Odin with a nudge of his legs and let the horse do the rest.

The rest of the course went by in a blur. All he saw was the flying tail of Tyr, the same colour as the small strands of hair of Sigurd which peeked out from under his helmet. He saw the blue shirt of Sigurd fluttering in the wind, the green leaves and twigs passing around him, occasionally brushing against his body as they galloped, jumped and bucked through the trees.

Odin was apparently happy to do this. Not only once he bucked after a jump, picked up pace, flung his tail around sassily. The jumps were of different sizes and shapes. More branches, a whole tree, a small creek, stone walls, uphill and downhill. When Odin jumped like a goat over a bush instead of jumping round and normal, Søren almost fell down, but managed to pull himself up again on the long mane and laughed. He patted Odin for trying his best and concentrated then on catching up with Sigurd.

Eventually Sigurd halted Tyr and gave him the long reins. The sweaty horse huffed and shook his mane. Søren followed suit and couldn't contain his smile on his lips. His and Sigurd's cheeks were rosy from the exertion and wind.  
"That was amazing," Søren laughed out of breath and patted Odin.  
"It was fun, yes," Sigurd said and he too had a shy smile on his lips. "And best of all, you completed it all without falling and with a smile." _That is how riding should be.  
_ Søren nodded slowly. That much was true.  
"I didn't even have time to think," he explained slowly.  
"And your mind was too occupied with other things. You had to concentrate on many things at the same time as well as that the obstacles weren't too high either."  
Søren sighed.  
"Still. I can't continue to jump so small and only in nature," he explained and looked earnestly at Sigurd, who returned the expression but with a hint of softness in his features.  
"It will come with time. Now take this positive experience and nail it down into your thick skull."  
"Alright, you are the teacher," Søren said and his sly smile returned on his lips. "And I am not the only thick head here."  
Sigurd smirked back.  
"No, no you are not."

The ride back was silent. Søren used it to enjoy to listen to the steady rhythm of the hooves, the birds singing in the trees and the rustling of the leaves over them. Sigurd apparently did the same, had even his eyes closed from time to time. How Søren got that information? It may be that he caught himself peering at Sigurd. At his sharp jawbones, his trained arms, how even when he was relaxed, he sat with the perfect posture and the lightly curved back. He noticed the chapped lips, the silver glint in his hair, and the midnight blue eyes that turned towards him, and Søren quickly returned his gaze back on the path in front of him. He didn't want to find for a dumb excuse for having stared at Sigurd.

So instead he broke the silence.  
"My friend who recommended your place and help actually knows you," he started. It resulted in Sigurd raising a brow and glancing at him.  
"They do?"  
"Yes, Edvard van de Houten. Dutch Show jumper?"  
A small knowing smirk transformed his lips.  
"Guessed so when you blurted out his first name. He confirmed it so himself when I asked him."  
"So you do know him?"  
"Yes." Now Sigurd turned his head and regarded Søren interested and knowingly. "I helped him, he helped me, we keep in contact and occasionally we meet up when it fits."  
"He never told me about you until the accident," Søren commented.  
"We both are not very talkative," answered Sigurd. If it was a sign to end the conversation, Søren willingly ignored it.  
"No shit." He chuckled and used now the opportunity to look at Sigurd without shame. He looked indeed like a mountain hippie wizard. Maybe even better. "Still. I am interested how an International Show Jumper gets to know and help a mountain wizard and the wizard returns the favour."  
Sigurd tilted his head and blinked slowly before looking back at Søren. "And you are very curious." He sighed and shrugged. "It was actually the other way around. I helped him with his horse and when I didn't have a place to stay at he took me in."  
"Oh," said Søren. So it must have been at least five years ago, before he moved with Edvard to that Dutch stable. "So you both rode at the same place?" he asked and received a nod as an answer.  
"Yes, I trained there for cross country beside my studies. Edvard was there as well with his new horse." Sigurd's face was illuminated by a small batch of sunlight for a second before he was in the shadow again.

Søren hesitated. He wanted to ask so much more, but everything would have been too frank, too blunt, too direct. So he just looked straight ahead again. They would be soon back at the stables.  
"Shame you stopped going on competitions though," Søren eventually said. "Would have been fun meeting you, a mountain hippie in such a serious environment" He meant it all in good fun but as he looked over, Sigurd regarded him with calculating eyes, before he offered an amused smile. "I know for a fact that not everybody is as serious as you about competitions. It's not always about winning. It is actually allowed to start to have fun. Even on higher levels." Søren's face tensed up, his eyes darting quickly aside, before looking at Sigurd again.  
"I know that of course," he said. Or better he had known. It all started out with fun and then? He didn't really know when it had stopped being fun anymore and it all has become business, competition and stress. "But when you want to be part of the Championships, you also need to be serious with training, organising, please the horse owners and such…"  
"Sure, but why go through such trouble if it's no fun to compete anymore? You could as well just train the horses, give lessons and such..." he mimicked Søren's tone of voice and arched an eyebrow whilst waiting for a response.

Søren took a deep breath, reminding himself for the thousandth time why he did all of this:  
"Because it is my dream to win at the Olympics. Gain the first Gold medal in Show jumping for Denmark." He smiled as he looked up, at the light kissed leaves, the shadowy twigs and branches. "I want to give other kids the hope that they too can fulfil their dreams if they work hard enough for it. Even without some rich parents." He looked over at Sigurd, chuckled at himself and looked sheepishly over again.  
"It is maybe a bit embarrassing that I still chase after my childhood dreams."  
But Sigurd shook his head. "No," he said softly. "If the dream could last so long through all the hardships, you should definitely grit your teeth and solve this problem. You are so close after all."

Søren could spare his heartfelt response, as Sigurd's phone rang, which he answered. His face grew darker and his lips were in a thin line when he didn't talk. Søren didn't have to understand a lot to know, that one of the horses needed a veterinary. When Sigurd ended the phone call, his face was looking worried through small changes in posture, gaze, tense jaw and lips. "If you don't mind I'd like you to take care of both of the horses. One of the others has a colic."


	5. Overnighter

The following days Sigurd was even more silent and tense than usually. He barely spoke during the meals, was always outside and Søren had the suspicion that he slept in the stables, since Søren never saw or heard him return in the evenings. Hákon told him, that the horse who had the colic needed supervision and that Sigurd would take it very seriously. But even for a horse hippie Søren thought it to be a bit extreme. Although he still got his lessons every day and the daily routine continued.

Finally, one evening Sigurd looked more relaxed, his eyebags had disappeared and he announced to Hákon that said horse was eating normal and was again more active. And so, it continued on, the lessons got indeed more interesting, more difficult and the jumps slowly higher. Guests came and went, and Søren was by now fully involved in the daily routine, since he complained about having nothing to do one time too often. Feeding, riding, helping tourists, cleaning, jogging in the woods, working out on a grassy field, not minding the different eyes watching him more or less interested, calming horses when the farrier and the veterinary visited and driving with Berwald to the next village to buy groceries. He also joined the tourists on their walks, some to their fishing spots, and once to the small museum about the local history, which in turn was pretty boring.

The leaves on the trees turned from a dark green to golden yellow, red and brown and Søren had to unpack his sweater and could leave his rain coat hanging in the entrance. It was time to say good bye, the summer was over. He could finally leave this place, return to his tall horses and white painted fences. And still he sat at the dinner table and turned over his potatoes over and over again, ripped the piece of chocolate cake into pieces until Sigurd raised his voice.  
"We need to talk Søren."  
The guests had already left the table and Søren's coffee had turned cold.  
"Hm?" he asked, noticing only now that he was alone with the residents of this place.  
"You are going to leave us Saturday, but you still are not able to jump as high as you did before." _Frank as always,_ Søren thought and nodded, yet not bitter at all.  
"Now is the question if you will be able to continue on your own and with your coach, or…" Or what? Søren didn't know whether or not he could do it. He got already much more secure on horseback, learnt relaxing strategies, about tölting and pace, could take his head off of his problems at home, found new friends. But he needed to return. He had obligations after all. He swallowed, tried to think faster and ended up with nothing.  
"I mean, I have my obligations," he started slowly, "and I need to train with the horses or the owners will find someone else to send them to competitions," he sighed. On the other hand, what was the use of returning, if he could not compete anyways?  
"I knew you'd say that and we understand if you want to return back home. But," he made a pause and looked quickly at the others.

Søren's heart was beating faster, glancing from one to the other. "We would also offer you to take the horses you promised to train up here. It would also allow us to work on your problems with the horses you are going to ride at competition heights. I will help you organise everything."  
His eyes were cool and yet they promised that he would indeed help make it happen. Søren's lips turned up and he smiled, eyes glinting with excitement.  
"If the sponsors are okay with it, and the owners and the stable I…," he rambled on, his thoughts racing.  
"Edvard will help getting the horses up here," Sigurd interrupted Søren, "It is time we see each other again anyways. You should contact him and every person involved. The sooner we know for sure, the better."  
Søren nodded excited, stood up almost knocking the chair backwards and hesitated. He'd almost hugged Sigurd but decided against it at the last second. Instead he turned on his heels and exited saying. "Already on my way."

Instead of packing his suitcase, Søren used up the whole next day calling people, writing emails, chatting with Edvard, running outside and asking Sigurd different questions regarding transport, the animal food and if it was suitable for Grand Prix horses, the contacts of the veterinarian, whether that was the right telephone number he found on the internet for the animal registry agency and if Sigurd wanted coffee. The latter Sigurd always said yes to, when Søren offered it.

And thus, two weeks later, Søren sat in the horse trailer at Sigurd's side, yawning and snuggling himself into the perfect fitted sweater he was wearing. His tired eyes looked out of the window, but everything was dark still and the gravel street in front of him was only illuminated by the lights of the trailer. It drizzled and so the windscreen wipers slowly turned over the front window, almost in tact with the good morning songs the radio played. First Søren did not know which seat to take, as there were two, beside of the driver's seat, but Sigurd took the decision.  
"Sit beside me. You need to hand me the coffee and food whilst I drive."

In a basket beside him was a thermos with coffee, sandwiches and cookies prepared by Berwald, already smelling deliciously mixed with the leather of the seats and the rain. Their trip would take up the whole day and Sigurd did not intend to stop until they were at the airport as long as he didn't have any horses they had to check on every two hours.

Søren already knew, that Sigurd was not a morning person, despite waking up every day at five o'clock in the morning. He was looking straight ahead, his eyes peering through the dark and his face clearly conveyed that he intended to remain silent until after the first cup of coffee. And so, he followed the unspoken wish and instead looked out for any moose who could cross the street.

After Sigurd could drink some of his life fuel the two started to chat. Or mostly it was Søren who told him everything about the three horses they had to pick up.  
"She's a bit hot blooded but the sweetest girl in the stable," "Timmie is a typical Hannoverian, his grandfather won the Olympics, have you heard of him?" or "Oh, and the first thing I'll give Dana is a banana. She loves them. We should buy some at the airport."  
Sigurd was a good listener, despite concentrating onto the street he nodded, asked some simple questions or pointed at something interesting, such as an unsecretive brothel on the way or a house a man was brutally murdered in with an axe or a small bunny farm. At some point both fell silent and just listened to the music, watching the landscape. It was a comfortable and natural silence.

Their faces dropped once they have entered the hotel room. The drive had been long, the airport procedures to park the trailer far too complicated, finding the hotel even more and now they faced yet another problem. A problem Søren didn't think was too problematic after all but awkward. Their promised two beds had merged into one king sized bed.  
"They must have mixed up what we meant with a room for two."  
Sigurd rolled his eyes and threw his bag onto the mattress.  
"It's just one night. We'll survive," he said and took off his sweater.  
Søren stood still, mesmerized by the smooth movement and the ripple of muscles flexing in front of him from under the pulled-up t-shirt.  
"Sure," he said, shaking his head and placing his bag on a chair instead. "I take it, that you take a shower first?"  
Sigurd arched an eyebrow, as he got his small toilet bag out. "Unless you join me, yes. I drove all the way after all."

Søren sat on the couch in their room and watched TV. Water was running still in the bathroom beside him. The people on the screen moved their lips, but Søren was too deep in his thoughts to really pay any attention to them. He had to think back at those abs, the biceps, the fluid motion and how that short hair was lightly tousled after. Søren knew damn well why he was thinking about Sigurd.

He was indeed an attractive man as he had already discovered on the first day and he knew exactly that Laura was not the first person he was in love with. There was another boy once in High School or the one at his first try at a queer bar in the Netherlands, or that one English girl who worked as a groom. And maybe, he thought as he watched some explosions on the screen and a car miraculously escaping them, maybe Sigurd just had that mystical aura around him that made him so interesting. Maybe it was just his body craving some release. Søren nodded. That must be it. Lust, craving, attractiveness and mystery. Which person in his situation would not think dirty thoughts about such a person?

The water stopped running and after a while the door opened. Some steam came out of the opening. Søren stood up to get his own belongings he needed and as soon as Sigurd left the bathroom he hurried inside. He didn't have the time to notice how Sigurd was already fully dressed despite it being far too hot in that small room for that. His body needed release, much sooner than Søren would have wanted to.

"So where do you want to eat?" Søren asked as they were both dressed again.  
"Something simple," Sigurd answered as he put on his dark coat and slid his wallet into one of the pockets. "I know a place, if it still exists, that is." He opened the door, smiled lopsided and showed with his free hand the way outside.  
"If the future Olympia winner may?"  
Søren smirked back and made a show of strutting out.  
"He may, and thank you, coach."  
As he walked in front of Sigurd towards the elevator his face quickly frowned in confusion. What exactly was he doing there? He couldn't flirt with Sigurd…? Or was it just fun without further intentions?

The place still existed and turned out to be just a Pepe's pizza. Yet it looked very cosy with the brick walls, the dim lighting, the cushioned chairs and the decorations on the wall ranging from the 50s to the 70s. The waitress with a long brown pony tail and a toothpaste publicity smile showed them a place for two farther in the back, as Sigurd requested a quiet corner. A pre-lighted candle was already placed on the table, but every other table had one as well.  
"This was the place my colleagues from school and I went to when we didn't feel for anything fancy for the night," Sigurd explained as he briefly looked over the menu.  
"You had colleagues at school?" Søren blurted out. It was somehow difficult to imagine and still he turned a bit red when he realised what he just said. "Oh.. This sounded meaner than I wanted it to… "Yeah..." He leaned a bit back, lowering his head and putting on, regretting puppy eyes.  
But Sigurd shrugged it off and closed the menu already. It couldn't have changed much since he was last here then.  
"You may not believe it but money offers you unwanted popularity," Sigurd said nonchalantly. "Even if you go to a school where most of the kids were wealthy anyways."  
"Tino already hinted at this, I think. You, coming from a rich family?"  
"And still I chose to live far from civilisation."  
The waitress came back, noted down their orders. "Two beers, one medium with chicken and one with beef, coming right away."  
Søren looked expectantly at Sigurd, waiting for him to go on, but as he remained silent he took the word again.  
"Yeah, I mean it surely was your choice of life style and that is not what I wondered about, but…" Søren thought about how he should phrase it without offending Sigurd again. He tilted his head, studied that beautiful face.  
"But you don't seem like a person with a lot of friends. Like, I think you gathered all of your friends already on the farm, sole exception being Edvard." He saw those critic blue eyes and added: "You seem more selective and not one who would go out with people just because they are rich as well."  
Sigurd looked down, rightened his fork so it was perfectly rectangular in regards to the edge of the table.  
"You are right. But in my younger years I was even more shy than selective. And as I said. Money sparks attention so I didn't have to do a lot to get to know people. Plus, I was young and naïve."  
Søren frowned a little, seeing how a second short twitch of Sigurd's lips hinted at annoyance. At himself maybe?  
"You and naïve? Man, I really should have known you during your competition years," he chuckled eventually, seeing how the expression on Sigurd's face relaxed after a few seconds, once he had realised that Søren would not ask further.  
"So what kind of school was that anyways?"

From then on, they talked about the schools, the differences between the Norwegian and Danish ones, what they had studied aside of their rider careers and about Søren's crazy aunt who once had stolen his horse. Søren and his father found her a kilometre deep in the forest, trying to get back onto horse back. Her justification: "But I have read so many books! I know how to ride now. And since you conveniently own one Søren darling… If it only could do as I say!"  
After the third beer they compared their respective language, letting the other try to pronounce the most difficult words. They agreed that they would stick to talking their own as they understood each other just fine already. At the fifth, Søren joked about their candle light dinner and how it must look like they were on a date, which Sigurd answered with an eye roll and a "who cares?". Sigurd still payed the bill for both of them.

On their way back to the hotel, they walked closely side by side but without touching each other. The warm city lights reminded Søren of Laura and he couldn't suppress a sigh. He missed her. She would have had one hand on his butt and laughing flirtatiously as Søren would press her even closer to him with his hand around her waist, knowing very well what they would begin in the elevator and finish behind a closed hotel room door. He would feel her warmth at her side, have her dark sultry voice in his head.

Instead he laughed at a snarky remark Sigurd dropped about a flock of teenage boys, acting like gorillas in the street, his hands in his pockets. Instead of golden locks in the dark, the hair of his companion shined silvery and in the light of the moon and street lights he looked more ethereal than human with his high cheek bones, the focused eyes, the blonde eyelashes and those lips.  
"What are you staring at?" Sigurd said, snapping Søren out of his thoughts. They were already standing in front of the hotel, the warm light flooding from the glass doors illuminating their faces.  
"Me? Uh.. Just your incredibly beautiful face," he joked in a teasing tone and waggled for more comedic effect with his eyebrows. _Please buy it, please buy it, please b-_  
Sigurd huffed and pulled on the doors.  
"You should watch for birds with your head in the clouds," he said and was already inside.

Søren lay awake beside of Sigurd who had his back turned towards him. His mind was too excited and confused to sleep. Tomorrow he was going to see Edvard again. And his horses! And furthermore, he'd maybe get to know more about Sigurd when Edvard was with him?  
The effects of the alcohol slowly vanished and he managed to think more clearly.

Did they really have a date now? Sigurd made all the time such dismissing comments about what people thought of them two, or sharing a bed or paying the bill for both of them, or the quiet corner in the restaurant with the candle. They were no jokes and yet was nothing serious for him? Søren thought back. Did Sigurd behave similar back at the barn? He had caught him once or twice watching him working out behind the house or even joining him when he had a bit of time. But it was nothing flirtatious? Well, maybe his hand did linger a bit when he touched his legs or hands when he corrected Søren on the horse. Or was it his imagination?

Søren turned around, on his other side and was faced with the silvery back of Sigurd's head on the other pillow. As if that change of position would make him think clearer.  
But if Sigurd was interested, would he really have changed in the bathroom? And that comment of Tino's, about Sigurd not being to be married was still stuck in his head. And what about himself? He always nudged Sigurd with those small comments, playing along with the jokes or just misinterpreting everything? And wasn't he still officially together with Laura? He missed her still after all. She just told him to fuck off, but also that if he behaved better he could return.  
Søren shut his eyes. He clutched his blanket and let the next thought terrify him. _Do I even want to return? To the stables, to the stress, to that blindfolded coach, to Laura?_


	6. Friend

Søren woke up with his head on Sigurd's pillow, his legs hanging down from his side and one arm half over Sigurd's back who himself lied curled up, facing him and breathing softly through his half-opened mouth. A fond smile creeped itself on Søren's lips as he watched that relaxed face so close to his. He allowed himself to remain like that for another few minutes, enjoying the warmth they shared, the calmness of the room and had to refrain himself from stroking the astray strands of hair out of Sigurd's face.

A small voice in the back of his head counselled him on not making the morning awkward and that Sigurd would surely want some coffee. Thus he slowly and carefully pushed himself up, making sure that Sigurd was warm again with Søren's radiating body heat missing. He quietly dressed, brushed his teeth and slipped out of the room. It was dark outside, the clock on his phone telling him it was 7:30 in the morning.

It was not long until he returned, two hot coffees in hand and a small paper bag. As he slipped in again, he didn't manage to hold onto the door with his hands full, and it closed with a loud clacking sound. Sigurd however only grunted and blinked against the first morning light from the window. Søren had to chuckle and sat down on the bed, using its space to deposit the paper bag.  
"Good morning sleepy head," he said and waved carefully with the cardboard cup in front of Sigurd's face. The smell and the fact, that Søren was already up and dressed let Sigurd peel himself out of his cocoon and sit up.  
"You already got breakfast?" he asked with a slow voice, eyeing the cups and paper bag.  
"Yupp," he answered and smiled. "We have a lot to do today and I know you won't work without your fuel."  
Sigurd was immediately more awake now, taking the cup out of Søren's hand, smelled it, and took the first sip. It wasn't the same as home, but close enough to how he liked it.  
"Thank you," he said and looked out of the window.  
"Man," Søren said as he unpacked the croissants, "I am so looking forward seeing that smoke head again."  
"Hmh…" Sigurd said absentmindedly and took another sip.  
"And my horses. Not that I have a deep bond with them yet with all my problems and them being more or less for a short time with me," he chattered on, "but I love them still."  
"Hmh…"  
"Remind me of buying bananas! I think I told you already how much Dana loves them?"  
"Hm…"  
"And before I forget it, I had a real hot dream between the two of us and I am going to steal all of your horses."  
"Hmh…"  
Søren tilted his head and nudged Sigurd's shoulder with his hand.  
"What's on your mind?"  
Sigurd finally turned his head towards him and frowned a little.  
"Nothing. You know I am not a morning person."  
Søren made a I-know-that-much-but-there's-something-else face and handed Sigurd his croissant.  
"Eat and watch out for the birds if your head is in the clouds." He grinned, and Sigurd couldn't help than smile tiredly as he reached for the offered croissant.  
"Thanks."

Edvard had supervised as promised all of the baggage, the veterinary check-up, the paper controls and of course that the horses had hay and water until Sigurd and Søren got to the airport.  
Both of them smiled as they jumped out of the trailer. The three met half ways and as Søren was ahead of Sigurd by a step he got the honour of hugging the tall Dutch man first.  
"Man I missed you," Søren laughed and patted Edvard twice on his back. As he let go of him, he stretched his neck and looked behind Edvard in hopes to see the horses.  
"Missed you too. And you can strain your neck all you want. The horses are back in the transport box."  
Sore nodded and stepped aside, to let Sigurd greet his old friend as well, not without swaying from one foot on the other and having his hands in his pockets to refrain himself from fidgeting.  
"Sigurd," Edvard said, smiled and pulled said man in a good old-fashioned hug. The both of them stood still like that, leaving Søren watching them a bit awkwardly, feeling something tightening in his chest.  
Sigurd was the one who stepped back again, smiled softly at Edvard and nodded with his head towards the transport box.  
"Let's get the horses. We can catch up when we're on the road."  
Edvard nodded and walked to the transport box standing close to a big building with large doors for trucks. Søren followed after, smiling in anticipation, a banana in hand which he had managed to put into his jacket pocket.

Not even an hour after they were back on the road. The horses were happily munching on some hay and the three men were seated comfortably, each of them with a drink in hand, for Sigurd the second cup of coffee in the cupholder. The first five minutes had turned out to be a tad awkward. First Søren assumed he would sit beside of Sigurd again, only to have Edvard get in first and stealing his place. And then no one really wanted to say something first.

That was, until Søren almost burst with all of his questions. How was the journey? Any problems? Was he hungry? But Søren felt, that the most important questions would not be answered right then and there. How was Laura? What is the history between you two? Why do you have such a bond when you barely see each other? Because in the way the two talked and acted, Søren knew that they were more than good friends.

The way they hugged, the way they looked at each other, the way they knew what the other was talking about, without specifying anything. When Sigurd told him about his students, about the horses, about the lessons that will increase now that the tourists got fewer, about Peter, Tino, Berwald and Hákon, Edvard seemed to understand everything without context. Søren had lived now for four months with Sigurd and even he struggled with understanding everything or with the names or of course with some insiders they shared.

Feeling the twitch in his chest grow more painfully, he tried to bring himself into the conversation, told Edvard of his improvement, about the riding tours, about Odin, about the weather, about anything that could be interesting. That way the journey was over faster than the three of them anticipated, despite the breaks to check on the horses.

All was dark and silent when the trailer drove just in front of the stables, the pebbles crunching under the tires. The automatic lights turned on when they were close enough to the stables and suddenly they could see the whole place illuminated. The pebbles, the grass, the path to the riding arenas, the stable, the ice palace and the paths to the bungalows farther back whose small lights turned on.

"Finally," Sigurd yawned and climbed down from the driver's seat. Outside Hákon, Berwald and Tino approached them already. Søren and Edvard jumped outside as well and stretched. It had been a long drive indeed.  
Edvard turned, a small smile curled his lips and he nodded towards Hákon.  
"You survived Søren as well. Good to see."  
"Better said, Søren survived us," Hákon bit back, a jokingly snarky smile on his lips. "And you survived the flight. Good to see," he mirrored Edvard.  
Berwald only nodded towards him. "Yer bed is ready. Got yer usual one."  
"And there are still some leftovers from dinner," Tino chirped in.  
"Thanks," Edvard said and looked at the trailer. "But first the horses."  
Sigurd nodded and already was opening the back ramp for the horses.  
"Nah, I'll do it," Søren said who had just stood aside and watched the welcome committee. He walked over to Sigurd, wanted to lay a hand on his shoulder, but decided against it.  
"You two are tired from travelling and driving. Let me help as well."  
Edvard and Sigurd looked at him for a second, both of them with the same calculating expression.  
"Fine," Sigurd said. "Thank you. We'll be inside then?"  
Søren nodded, offered a gentle smile. "I'll come after as soon as the three are in the boxes, relaxed."  
One after the other turned and walked back to the main house, whose windows shone warmly in the night.

First Søren got Dana out, talking in a soft voice with her. "That's your new home for the next weeks. With a lot of fluffy horses. You'll be a giant amongst them. But the pasture is big and the food's good and healthy for you."  
He led her to her freshly prepared box. Watched her taking everything in with her nose, her eyes, her ears. He patted her, talked lowly and when he was sure she wouldn't freak out, he turned around and repeated the process with the two others.

All in all, he remained with them for almost an hour. He checked again that they had everything they needed. And when he walked outside and noticed the first drops of an approaching rain falling on his skin, he decided he could as well bring all the equipment from the trailer into the tack room. And when that was done, he unpacked the tack and put everything to its new designated place. And eventually he patted his horses again. And finally, he decided that it was time to return to the others. As he walked through the rain he shook his head at his actions. Why did he procrastinate? Now he had to walk through the rain. And he missed out on all the talking with the others. He missed out on the precious time with Edvard. And Sigurd.

When he hung up his coat and took off his shoes he heard two muffled voices talking in the living room, laughing. Søren stood there in the hallway, listening to the laughing subside to a chuckling and then to more talking, glasses being put back on the table. Although he wanted to go there badly, he first did a detour to the kitchen in which a plate with a sandwich was placed in a manner he could not not see it. A note was placed beside it on which only one word was written. "Søren".

He got a glass of soda, took the sandwich and walked over to the living room. The voices stopped when Søren was at the door. Edvard and Sigurd were seated on the couch, a glass of some sort of alcohol was placed in front of them and both had their steady gazes on Søren. Blue and green eyes, staring at him and he felt his face growing hot, as much as his chest feeling resentment for a reason Søren couldn't decipher. Edvard had one arm resting on the back rest, Sigurd in the other corner, leaning on both the arm and back rest.  
"You took your time…" Edvard said, concern lingering in his voice.  
"Yeah, I took care of the equipment as well," Søren said with his lopsided smile.  
"Shouldn't have, but thanks." Sigurd said.  
"Join us, will you? Sigurd told me a lot about you as his student."  
"I don't know. I am tired…" Søren looked down, back at the two, and tilted his head.  
"It was a long day," Edvard agreed after three excruciatingly long seconds. "Then we'll talk tomorrow? Plan our day just as we did home?"  
The Dane nodded and smiled again, a smile that didn't reach his eyes.  
"Sure. Good night then," and he turned around.  
"Good night," it came back from the two others and it remained silent for another few seconds, before they resumed talking.

Søren slinked back to his room, chastising himself for not agreeing to sit with his friends. Why did he do that? He sank down on his bed, put the glass and plate on his night stand and rubbed his face with both of his palms, pressing them on his eyes.  
"Why?" he murmured into the dark. "Why am I such an idiot?"  
But it was too late and he was stuck here in his room. His pride did not let him go back to them.  
Slowly he ate his sandwich, letting his thoughts run freely. He only went out to quickly brush his teeth. Back in bed he promised himself that the next day would be better. He would not be an idiot and let happen what today somehow happened. Whatever it was.

As promised Edvard was sitting the next morning at the small kitchen table, a tea in front of him and a half-finished yogurt.  
"Morning," he said, looking up from his phone on which he read the newspaper.  
"Good morning," Søren smiled and prepared himself a sugary coffee with milk and a slice of bread. As he was seated and had taken his first sip of coffee he looked anxiously at the other.  
"So…" he began slowly, not really knowing what to say, how to start. "Have you slept well?"  
"Hmh," answered Edvard. "Always do when I am here."  
"So this is the place you go to when you tell me you're in Norway?"  
"Yupp," Edvard said and picked up his yogurt again.  
"I didn't know you and Sigurd were that close." Søren bit his tongue and watched Edvard closely.  
"You didn't have to know. We're good friends. Went through some bad times together."  
"But I am your friend too," Søren exclaimed, sitting up and frowning. "I mean," he looked down on the table, "I should know if you have had some bad times."  
Edvard shrugged.  
"I never had a reason to." He looked over at his friend, studied him. "Are you sure you're alright? You acted weird yesterday evening."  
"Of course I am alright," Søren said and crossed his arms. "I was just tired. We had a long drive and Sigurd and I didn't exactly go to bed early."  
"No?" Edvard asked.  
"No. We went on a…" Søren shook his head and corrected himself. "We went out to eat Pizza and we didn't look at the clock so it lasted longer than it should have."  
"And that is why you took an hour for extra work, instead of joining us?"  
Søren looked away now. There was no one else around. Outside it was still dark, the others would have yet to get up to take care of the horses. Any moment…. But not fast enough to escape the question.  
"I just wanted to do it then and there so we didn't have to do it today."  
"Right," Edvard said in an unbelieving manner.  
They remained silent. Søren could eat his bread, Edvard got up to throw away his yogurt. The clock at the white painted wall ticked away the seconds. Søren would only have to ask the questions burning on his tongue. Now no one else was around. Now he could-

"Morning," came a deep voice from behind him and Sigurd entered, dressed for the day but with his usual grumpy morning face. He made a beeline to the coffee machine.  
"Good morning Sunshine," Edvard joked as he sat back down, Søren smiled and just said:  
"Hi."  
"Let's get working," Sigurd grumbled, moving outside, mug in hand.

The day started and was over much quicker than it usually seemed to do. But it was no wonder as Søren had his hands full with introducing his horses to the new environment and longing them outside to get them moving after the long trip. Sigurd and Edvard took some horses and trained them, Edvard moving around as if he lived here since forever. Søren watched the two of them whenever possible, biting and tugging on his lower lip. Luckily his horses demanded enough attention so he could take his head out of the guessing and assuming thoughts. And when it finally was afternoon the three of them could go on a hack, the main duties being done.

After a long, quick and comfortable tölt up the hill, they halted at a creek and let the horses drink. The men stretched their backs, let their feet out of the stirrups to circle them some.  
"Really missed this," Edvard said and looked up at the sun which shone weakly through the leaves. A bird flew from one to the next branch, its fluttering of the wings echoed.  
"And you're not bothered anymore by these ridiculous fluff ponies?" he asked Søren with a sly smirk. Søren blushed and looked down on the red mane of the Icelandic horse he was riding.  
"I was." He looked up again and smiled. "But I changed my opinion."  
"Didn't take too long either. Just admitting it is still hard, eh?" Sigurd asked, yet his eyes were looking fondly at him.  
"Hrm," Søren said and pouted.  
"That says it all. "  
"How is Laura?" Søren blurted out. Anything to get them to talk about something else than him. Edvard's smirk vanished slowly and he looked more confused.  
"Laura? Laura is fine I guess."  
"That's... good."  
"Still works at her old job, goes sometimes on a hack with some horse she can borrow, travelled with her friend to Dubai last month."  
 _And does she miss me? Did she ask about me?  
_ "Sounds good," Søren said, his voice a pitch higher than it should have been.  
Sigurd looked from one to the other, his face not letting on anything.  
"You didn't talk with Laura? 'thought you were still together?" Sigurd asked finally, ending the silence.  
Søren shook his head and rubbed his neck. It was difficult. It was complicated. It was silent and it was like a fading chalk drawing on pavement.  
"No, I didn't dare," Søren finally admitted, taking the reins back up. He thought now was really the time to just ride on.  
"Didn't I tell you about how he was kicked out?" Edvard asked.  
Sigurd nodded. "You told me it was ugly, but that isn't really a break up, is it?"  
Søren snorted, and nudged his horse with his legs. It was now really time to move.

Edvard shrugged and followed Søren, riding alongside Sigurd.  
"Well, she did tell Søren to go to hell and yadda yadda. But that he could return if he had his sense of humanity back, that is true," Edvard recalled.  
"So why didn't you talk to her, Søren?" Sigurd asked. "I think you got much better indeed."  
Søren didn't look back as he answered but he felt the eyes set on his back.  
"I don't know," he said finally.  
"Don't know?" Edvard frowned. "You just let my sister hanging there without an explanation?"  
"I know," Søren grumbled and looked straight ahead.  
"You need to do better than that," Edvard said and rode faster to catch up with Søren. They rode head on head and Edvard tried to get a good look at his face. "Tell me why you treat my sister like that."  
Søren looked aside, pushed with his legs for the horse to go faster. Whether unintentionally or fully aware, Søren couldn't tell.  
"I don't know!" he exclaimed but Edvard was not happy with that at all.  
"You need to get things straight with her," he demanded, leaning over to Søren. "So why are you such a coward?" The horses under them still moved in a steady rhythm, carrying them uphill, Sigurd closely behind.  
Søren's face was burning, his inside boiling, thoughts running wild again and his mind tried to find anything to answer. They never fought like that, Edvard never rose his voice. But his sister was holy to him. If Søren knew one thing, it was that no one should ever dare to hurt his sister. That, Edvard made clear the first evening Søren took Laura out on a date. He snapped his head towards Edvard, eyes wide, voice far too loud.  
"Because I love her! Because I am afraid she'll hate me still and I don't want to hurt her again but I also lo-"  
"Enough!" Sigurd yelled as he stopped his Icelandic horse in front of the two after a quick pace past them and calmed the three horses with a lifted hand and a "Hoooh."  
Everything was silent. Only the leaves rustling in the wind could be heard. The horses stood attentive with their ears pointing forward, awaiting the next signal from Sigurd. But he was only glaring at the two men in front of him, making them crumble in their posture and lowering their gazes.  
"If you want to fight you get off my horses," Sigurd said in an authoritarian tone which matched his stone-cold face. "If you want to continue, you will both shut your mouths until you find something better to talk about. And I will pull you personally off of your horse if you should start another argument. Understood?"  
The two men nodded, gave each other a quick glance.  
"I will explain later," Søren said silently, fully aware of what he said and what might have followed. But that was just an outburst, right? He did get better after all…  
"I will listen to you after," Edvard agreed, looking between them two.  
"Good," Sigurd said simply and continued in a much more agreeable pace the tour through the forest, although silent.

"Let's talk," Edvard said after having taken a drag of his pipe. Søren didn't know anyone else their age smoking from a pipe and he always wondered why Edvard did it. But the only answer he got was that he liked the taste better like that. The two of them stood outside on the porch and watched how Hákon trained in the Arena and Sigurd giving a lesson to an adult student in the other corner. It was evening. A cold one too but the three people and the horses continued working in the flashlight of the lanterns, with their breaths forming little clouds.  
"I am still sorry that I didn't talk to Laura, but I-" Søren was cut off by a lifted hand from Edvard.  
"I think I know now why."  
Søren blinked and smiled confused.  
"You do?"  
"I wasn't sure first but after today I know." Edvard had his small I-know-it smirk on, which had a certain effect on people. Either you wanted to lay with him or punch him in the face. Sometimes both.  
"Then tell me, know it all," Søren said and crossed his arms.  
"You were jealous."  
Søren frowned and made a face. "What do you mean? That's not why I didn't write to Laura?"  
"No, that is why you acted weird on the first day."  
"And how do you connect this with Laura?"  
Edvard's smirk only grew.  
"You didn't deny it," he teased and chuckled at Søren's huff and rolling eyes.  
"I'm just not used to sharing you," Søren said quietly and looking down on the wooden handrail.  
"Me? You just share me with Laura, Sadik and Eliza on an everyday basis. On competitions? Should I count them all?"  
Søren had to chuckle and shook his head.  
"No, I understand," he said slowly and sighed. "But I do not understand what you mean with being jealous and what this has to do with Laura."  
Edvard sighed desperately and leaned against the hand railing.  
"Sigurd was right. You got better with your attitude, with your outbursts of emotions and as you told me yourself with your flashbacks and your anxiety."  
He waited a second, but Søren only looked at him, waiting for him to go on. A small blush was barely visible from the light hanging beside the door, illuminating them from behind.  
"But sometimes you're still stupid. And I thought Sigurd could have some influence on you."  
"Hey!" Søren exclaimed and frowned. He knew Edvard didn't mean it seriously. But still.  
"You need to decide, alright?" Edvard's face grew more serious and his eyes were looking straight into Søren's. "You are going to tell my sister your answer. Either you break up with her, or you ask her for forgiveness."  
"What?" Søren stammered. "What do you-" But Edvard was not done talking.  
"And if you break up with her, you do it over phone. Not text. Better even, you'd do it in person. And you are going to ask for forgiveness for your dick behaviour back then."  
Søren sighed and nodded in defeat. He clasped his hands together, his arms resting on the hand railing.  
"Yes."  
Edvard mimicked him, took a drag from his pipe and closed his eyes.  
"Damn, if you weren't my friend I'd punch you in the face for hurting my sis. But…" He opened his eyes again and looked at Søren. "How can I stay mad at you, when I see how you look at Sigurd? And how you treat him?"  
Søren's face heated up and he looked out and what he saw, was Sigurd in the middle of the Arena, gesturing at something. He was everywhere.  
"What do you mean?" he asked uselessly, without really asking.  
"I mean, you should be very careful."

Søren frowned but didn't take his eyes off of Sigurd. He was so small in the distance, and still he could hear his voice in his head, telling him to breathe, to do this or that.  
"You mean he is straight?" Søren asked, but in the back of his head he knew there was something else.  
"No," Edvard said with a certainty that relieved Søren. "What I mean is: Sigurd is a strong man with a long history. He won't break if you hurt him but it won't help him either."  
Søren straightened himself, one hand took hold of the white wood beside him. All of this secrecy… He just wanted to know what was wrong. What had happened. He just wanted to understand. To understand Sigurd.  
"I know he has history. But nobody wants to tell me what happened. Why he is like he is!" He whined almost in frustration.  
"Just accept it, Søren. You didn't tell him the first day about your accident either, right?"  
"No, but I told him afterwards."  
"Not true, he figured it out himself."  
"So I need to figure it out on my own?!"  
"You either figure it out and keep it to yourself, or you give him his damn space and he'll tell you on his own."  
Søren groaned and shook his head. He heard the wood creak and Edvard was at his side. A heavy hand was on his shoulder now.  
"Sigurd is my friend and we went through some shit together. I know you would never want to hurt him, or anyone for that matter." Søren looked up in those stern green eyes that could carry so much care. Not unlike Sigurd's eyes. "Be patient. One part of why he's so good at understanding the horses is, because he got a bit of an ancient horse soul in him. He needs time to trust."  
"And I thought you are taciturn and cryptic. Now you're just cryptic."  
Edvard chuckled and shrugged as he stepped back.  
"It's more fun being cryptic." He made sure his pipe wasn't lit on anymore. "An old and wise man needs a lot of sleep. So, think about my words youngling and good night." Edvard turned around and entered the house, accompanied by a defeated "Good night" from Søren's side.


	7. Loss

ATTENTION!  
If you are sensible to certain triggers please read the notes at the end of the chapter for warnings. I do not want to post them up here to spoil anyone, but PLEASE. If you know that certain themes may be bad for your mental health, read below.

* * *

Edvard's absence was immediately felt by everybody. Sigurd was even more silent than usual, whether this be because Edvard had left them, or because a certain horse became ill again. Berwald and Tino didn't stay longer after dinner, Peter was immensely bored and Søren was left without his support and with a task he didn't want to fulfil. And so, he threw himself back into work.

He helped where he could, worked on the bond of trust between him and his horses, did the mental exercises Sigurd told him about weeks ago, went through the library in the living room and began to read all the books about rider's and horse's psychology, horsemanship, biographies of people who had similar experiences, about techniques of jumping and dressage. He noticed how he was more focused, how Sigurd said less and less during their lessons, how he jumped higher and more difficult lines. How he left the arena smiling more often.

And then one morning everything was frozen and Sigurd declared that they'd celebrate Halloween this year. For Peter and one of the guests who wanted to celebrate his birthday.  
"It won't be anything special. But we'll decorate the house, prepare Halloween-ish food, get a lot of sweets and for the adults some drinks."  
Peter's eyes immediately shined in excitement and he grinned.  
"Lots of sweets! And costumes! I want to be a Nøkk just like in your stories!" He showed his teeth and made a hissing noise. Søren laughed at that and ruffled Peter's hair since he was seated right beside him this time.  
"You'll be one scary Nøkk." He got another hiss as an answer.  
"How many guests are going to be there?" Berwald asked, already making plans in his head what and how much he'd have to prepare and when to start with it.

Søren didn't follow the discussion as his mind drifted away. He was transfixed how Sigurd's lips moved. Went from relaxed, to a thin line when he hummed, then moved, opened, smiled and relaxed again. They were chapped from the cold but surely so soft. A hand pushed some hair from Sigurd's face, dark eyes blinked at him and looked then straight back into Søren's.  
"Søren?"  
Søren snapped back and shook his head ever so slightly and smiled then at Sigurd.  
"What?"  
"Berwald asked you whether you want to go to town with him to help buy the groceries and decorations, or not."  
"Oh." Søren blushed and nodded at Berwald. "Sure thing. When should we go?"  
"I'd say Thursday. Some food won't be durable, so we'll have to buy everything the day before."  
"Alrighty," Søren smiled and when he noticed that everyone was done with their meal he got up and started piling up the plates and carried them to the kitchen.

Once out of sight from the others he exhaled deeply. What was he thinking staring like that at Sigurd? At least in a way that everybody else could see it. He filled the dishwasher with the plates and jumped when someone beside him threw the cutlery in it.  
"You almost drooled," said Tino and chuckled.  
Søren's blush returned, harder than before.  
"Was it that obvious?" he said, accepting his fate.  
"For me it was," Tino said and smiled knowingly. "If I were you, I'd try to avoid staring so much if you want to keep it a secret."  
"And what if I don't want it to be a secret?" he mumbled when Tino was walking back to the others.  
"What?" Tino turned around again and looked questioningly at him but Søren just shook his head.  
"Nothing."

Søren and Sigurd made their way through the lightened-up darkness for the last control on the pastures. They walked silently side by side, one hand in a pocket, the other holding a flashlight. They passed the first two, counted the horses, checked the water and made then their way to the third and last one.  
"What were you thinking about tonight, Søren?" Sigurd asked eventually as they entered through the third gate and walked to the wooden structure that served the horses as a shelter against the bad weather.  
"What do you mean?" he asked.  
"You were staring at me but you didn't listen to what we said. Is something on your mind?"  
"Oh…" Søren said, blushed and scoffed. "Nothing."  
"Sure?"  
"Sure."  
"Because I was thinking Søren and-" Sigurd cut himself off. "Shit, that's not good."

The light cone of his flashlight fell on a horse that was laying far away from the herd. Its head was directed towards the two of them and it made a soft noise, as if it had awaited the two of them. A second horse stood close and watched the two as well. Sigurd marched towards the two horses and the light cone seemed to tremble more and more with every metre Sigurd got closer. Søren followed him after having closed the gate after him.

"Hey, Frigga," Sigurd said in the most affectionate voice Søren had ever heard. The Norwegian kneeled down beside the horse. He remembered Sigurd showing her to him, explaining that it was his first horse. And that she was therefore old. Very old for a horse. It was also the horse that repeatedly got ill due to her age. And now this horse was laying on the cold ground, away from the herd, accompanied only by another mare. The death guardian.  
Søren stood right behind Sigurd and bit his lip.  
"Should I call the vet?"  
Sigurd stroked over Frigga's head and nodded.  
"Please."

When Søren returned from the main house, Hákon was already with his brother on the pasture. An oil lamp was placed beside them and Hákon sat huddled in his big winter jacket, wearing bonnet and gloves, beside Sigurd. The second horse had joined the herd again and Frigga was alone now. Her head rested on Sigurd's lap and only the rising and sinking of her side could tell Søren that she was still alive.

He was as silent as the two others when he wrapped a warm blanket around Sigurd's shoulders and sat on Sigurd's other side. He sat down another bonnet and gloves for Sigurd to take on, as well as a hot-water bottle. In the background he could hear the heard. How they stomped from time to time, moved around. An owl called through the night and their breaths formed yellow clouds in the warm light the oil lamp provided them with.  
"Hákon, could you please leave Søren and me alone?" Sigurd said at one point, exhausted, anxious and knowing full well that he was not fair.  
"Why?" asked Hákon indignantly and looked at Sigurd with a thousand questions on his face.  
"I want to tell him."

Søren looked between the two and his heart beat faster. What did Sigurd want to tell him? In such a sad scene? And he was reminded again how he hated such situations and he felt that this was hardly the time for arguing with him in the middle of it.  
"Tell him? Now?!" Hákon asked unbelieving.  
"Yes. Now." Sigurd said harshly and glared at Hákon. A glare he couldn't keep up for long. "Please, Hákon."  
Hákon hesitated, looked at the two in front of him and at Frigga.

"Just let me first say good-bye too," he murmured and leaned forward. Slowly he stroked over that formerly so strong neck. Tears rolled over his cheeks and he buried his face shortly into her soft fur. He mumbled something Søren couldn't quite make out, but he swore Hákon thanked her. After that Hákon took a long last look at her before he got up and turned away.

Sigurd and Søren watched him leave the pasture before the Norwegian looked at Søren, then back at Frigga. He trailed over the features of her head as he spoke.  
"She gives me strength even now. And I need to use it as long as I still can, to tell you." Sigurd took a shuddering breath.  
"I'm listening," Søren said, his mind empty of anything else than Sigurd. Said sighed and began his story.  
"I was lucky enough to come from a family that managed to support my love for horses. All I did was training, reading, caring for my horses and working for school. I was successful in competitions and quickly climbed the ranks.  
So my parents used their influence to get me placed in a top stable in the Netherlands with International riders, top horses and the possibility to become a professional. I still had to attend school and after that begin my studies. But all was laid out for the future of my dreams.  
The day I arrived at that stable was like a daydream. I was just seventeen years old and it was all so exciting and frightening with all those new people and the high standards. And just when I returned from bringing Frigga to her box, who I was allowed to keep despite her not fitting that stable at all, I saw him."

He smiled fondly at the horse and Søren had a gut turning feeling that all of this sounded too perfect indeed. But he was silent and listened.

"Alexander was the handsome prodigy from Germany. He was popular, savvy, talented and handsome. He smiled at me, asked me who I was and I blushed hard, forgot my name and where I came from. But he just laughed it off and showed me around.  
The following weeks were hard. I had troubles getting friends, the new school, getting used to the horses, to the new and harsher schedule. But he was there for me, always offered me a smile, asked how I was and helped me with all the questions I had.  
I felt like no match to him, asked myself why he even talked to me. The one who casually flirted with the grooms, who joked around with the coach and was just perfect.  
I crushed hard on him and slowly, over the months he must have noticed. Because one evening when we celebrated the birthday of our coach he asked me to follow him outside. We both had some beers in our system, so I felt confident enough for anything.  
Outside he told me that he liked me, that he noticed how I maybe liked him back and that he'd love to taste my lips. I could only muster a shy and stuttering yes before I had my first kiss ever."

Sigurd sighed. "Back then I didn't care that he was a few years older, too experienced for me. I should have known already when he told me, that we should keep our homosexual relationship hidden. That he feared that people would judge us, that it would hinder our careers and that sponsors would draw back. Which was utter bullshit. But I was naïve, young and too over the moon that he had kissed me and so I believed what he said."

Sigurd braided Frigga's hair as he talked, undid it again and avoided to look at Søren. Even in the poor lighting Søren could make out the tenseness of the other's face and he didn't need to touch his shoulders to know they would be hard and unrelaxed. No, this surely was bullshit what that Alexander had told Sigurd but Sigurd had already taken 'bullshit' out of Søren's mouth.

"And then?" Søren asked quietly.  
"Then we were together. Happily, as I can say even now. As he promised me we started slow with just innocent kisses in between when no one saw us, hanging out in each other's room, cuddling. Slowly our kisses turned sultrier, our touches travelled more but every time before we got more serious he broke off and told me that we'd have to wait for my eighteenth birthday. It drove me crazy and I asked myself how he could keep it together."

Sigurd huffed and his lips turned in a scoff smile. "Now I know." He shook his head. "Anyways. He was my only real friend there and was at the same time my boyfriend. So I relied on him for pretty much anything. Hákon lived a thousand kilometres away after all and all my other friends stopped contacting me as school and riding took so much of my time."  
"And Edvard?" Søren asked.  
"He was not a regular yet. Only came for clinics. We greeted once or twice maybe. But since he wasn't very talkative himself we didn't get close.  
So instead I worked my ass off and became better. In the mean time I celebrated my eighteenth birthday and the same night Alexander followed me to my room and was very gentle with me. I will never forget these warm and brown eyes looking at me when I stripped for him. Or his voice telling me what to do. I was completely his.  
And from then on we'd have sex regularly. As I became accustomed with it and knew what was going on I discovered his kink. He'd take me everywhere. In my room, his room, the toilet of a bar we visited, the forest when we were on a hack, the tack room…"

Heat bubbled in Søren's stomach up to his chest and it was not of the good kind. Nothing against risky outdoor sex but the way Sigurd told the story, how tense he was, what picture he got from Alexander… And amidst this anger he felt frozen in fear. Fear for Sigurd.

"On competitions I started to catch up on Alexander's experience. I began to start in the same classes as him and soon he didn't have any tips or lessons for me left, even if he still liked to teach me. And one day I surpassed him.  
The day I was better than him in a class he was silent. He led me back to our trailer, locked the door and took me from behind without saying a word. I was willing to let him ride out his frustration and disappointment. This routine followed with each lesson that went better for me than him, every show I won, every time he fell off a horse. He was rough, unloving and I took it for him, thinking it helped to get over the negative emotions."

Søren wanted to take Sigurd's hand so badly but he was shaking himself in anger and self-realisation. Would he have become the same if he only had stayed long enough in the toxic environment?  
He had been an ass to Laura in any case, only thinking about himself, about having to be the best, forgetting almost to love her. Would he have done the same? But before he could guess any further Sigurd already continued.

"The more the negative spiral progressed, the more Frigga behaved violently towards Alexander. She didn't tolerate him anymore, bit and kicked at him, pushed herself between me and him. I wondered what was happening, read and educated myself on that weird behaviour but ignored all the warning signs.  
Yet I still became more interested in the psychological aspects of horses and discovered horsemanship for me. With Frigga by my side I could try everything out. From ground work without any help, to riding without tack, to the roots of classical dressage to understand a horse's mind and how mindfulness helped me and my riding.  
I noticed how I even got better through the new experiences, despite some fellow riders joking at my practices. Some were interested and most of them just shrugged their shoulders.  
With exception to one person. Edvard had problems getting along with his horse and as he loved it to bits despite its difficult character he turned desperately to me whom he saw one evening working with Frigga.  
I agreed and that was the start of our friendship. With a lot of work and patience we managed to help him and his horse. All the while I was getting worse."

Sigurd's face grew even more grim. "Alexander barely talked to me anymore, and I felt used. I was overworked, tired and lonely. One evening I wanted to talk with him about it and went to his room. But he didn't react to my knocking as loud music was playing. So I opened the door and saw him fucking our newest groom. She was moaning and begging and he kissed her silent, telling her how beautiful she was."

Søren blinked, was speechless and felt no feeling of affirmation that Alexander truly was the asshole he thought him to be. He just felt bad for Sigurd and reached out for him. He took slowly, softly his hand that was clenched beside of Frigga's head. The fist relaxed, opened and held Søren's hand back.  
Mustering strength from Frigga's warmth and Søren's touch Sigurd continued. Quietly now, voice suppressing the anger, the disappointment, the sadness and fright.

"The next day I waited for him the tack room as I usually did when I knew he needed to let out his frustration on me. It was a particularly bad day but I didn't feel bad for him. I fell off my horse too because my mind was too distracted. I hurt my shoulder and then a professor at the university denounced me and my inattentiveness in front of everyone else."

"As he entered he could barely close the door behind him when I already began conjuring up hell. Asked him if he had enjoyed last night's fuck, if I was really only his sex doll and if he wanted to end our relationship he should have just said something.  
First he tried to explain himself, told me he had flirted with the groom to not let the rumour spread that he was in a homosexual relationship with me and that it then escalated.  
But for the first time I didn't want any of his excuses. When he noticed that I was really furious, that I had grown more confident the past months thanks to my mental work for my horsemanship and me having become hard and cold thanks to heart break and loneliness, he locked the door."

"No," whispered Søren and terror instilled itself in his heart. He held that trembling hand tightly but comforting.  
"He stepped closer, tried to comfort me, told me it was a one-time mistake. But all I could see was red and so I slapped him. He came back at me with a hit in my face and then tried to turn me around. When I struggled against him he pushed on the shoulder I hurt myself on from the fall and I had to obey. He then was quick with bending me over the big metal sink."

Sigurd bit his lip hard, fought visibly with himself and Søren stayed patient. Despite everything in him revolting. He wanted to scream, to beat that asshole to a pulp, to wrap Sigurd in a thousand blankets and tell him that everything was alright. Sigurd's voice was quiet, trembling and his cheeks glinted treacherously.  
"It hurt. Much more than I could have ever imagined and I was like frozen. I couldn't move, I couldn't make a sound. I couldn't fight him off and I couldn't cry. All I can remember are fragments. The burning, the marks he beat into me, the smell of the metal and leather, his rhythmic grunting and his breath on my neck. His insults."

Sigurd shivered, shut his eyes and lowered his head. A suppressed sob let his whole body shudder. Søren scooped closer, stroked with his thumb gently over the interlocked hand.  
"You don't have to continue," he said but Sigurd shook his head.

"When Alexander was finished he ordered me to keep silent or he'd tell everyone how I was a stalker an liar and he'd make sure I'd get kicked out. And that was the official end. Alexander ignored me from then on and I kept silent. That was until I met Edvard again."

"He knew immediately that something was wrong. Not only reacted his horse different to my signals but I guess my own behaviour was enough give away, despite the blue marks having almost disappeared.  
I couldn't keep it in anymore, told him everything. He urged me to go to the police, to tell my parents, to tell my coach.  
I told my parents, Edvard by my side. They were shocked, asked me if I was sure, if I was hurt, since when I was gay. And then they tried to hush it down as soon as I said that I wasn't in hospital. My father was in question for a huge job deal and they didn't want a scandal disturbing the perfect family picture and white vest we had.  
At least they proposed that I could move back up to them, to Bergen. That was when Edvard ended the call for me by shouting "assholes" and pressing the red button. He had understood that much Norwegian." At that Sigurd's lips managed to lift some.

"He offered me to live with him for a while. He lived closer to the city in his own apartment and I agreed. He asked a friend of his if I could relocate Frigga to a much friendlier and smaller stable and the same day I packed my few belongings and slept on the couch at Edvard's. I had a long talk with Hákon. At least my parents had the courtesy of telling him what had happened.  
The next morning we got Frigga and my riding stuff. I said good bye to the horses I had trained with. But before I left for good I wanted everyone to know who Alexander was. Even if they wouldn't believe my message, no matter how well Alexander could talk himself out of it and no matter that they would banish me for good from that stable."

"Edvard and I snuck at night back in and decorated Alexander's door with some messages and pictures of men convicted of the same charges Alexander had followed in the footsteps of. We did the same to the boxes of his horses, made old school graffitis, telling everybody on the parking lot, that here lived the greatest asshole and predator, Alexander. It felt good and that night was the first night in months I slept well."  
Sigurd sighed tiredly, wiped with his free hand over his face.

"Frigga and Edvard helped me through that difficult time. I was done with the toxic environment and needed to take my mind off. And as I was used to training every day, I continued with that to not fall into a hole I feared I couldn't find out of anymore. I took lessons in horsemanship from all the teachers available in the surroundings. I saw a therapist, continued on my university degree and helped people who had problems with their horses. Hákon was the mediator between our parents and me. He made them pay for all of my expenses and for the therapist. He visited whenever he could."

"I'm glad Edvard and Hákon were there for you," Søren said. All that jealousy, that envy… It felt so stupid now and he wished he could have had behaved and felt different. But now he understood. His eyes fell on Frigga, whose breaths got shallower. She was waiting for Sigurd. "And I'm glad you had Frigga by your side who tried to protect you, loved you, and helped you through it."

Sigurd nodded silently. "I wouldn't have made it without her," he said trembling. "I have been with her every day. Or rather she had been with me. She taught me so much, we grew up together and then she continued to…" Sigurd sobbed. "I feel her love every day. She was and still is my best friend." Tears rolled now freely over his cheek. He bent down and layed his head on Frigga's.  
"Thank you." He sobbed again, let go of Søren's hand and wrapped his arms instead around Frigga's heavy head. "Thank soyu for your love. Thank you for everything," he said muffled into her fur in the dialect Søren barey understood. His voice broke, his body was shaking and trembling and Søren couldn't hear anything else than the despairing and sorrowful cries of a heartbroken man.

Frigga stopped moving, breathing. Her wait for Sigurd was over and her last strength had vanished from her body. It was as if time stood still. The night was clear, there was no cloud, the stars shone cold from the night sky and nothing moved around them. Eventually Søren wrapped an arm around Sigurd and held him close. He ran his fingers through that soft silvery hair and whispered what he hoped were soothing things to Sigurd.

Søren couldn't tell how much time had passed when Sigurd finally lifted his head again from Frigga. His eyes were puffy, his nose ran but he made quick process of it and just wiped with the wool blanket over his face. He took a deep breath of the cool night air and looked up at the stars.  
"No point sitting here, when Frigga is carrying a Valkyrie in the sky now," he said quietly and turned to Søren. He just nodded and offered him a soft smile.  
"She'll be the best steed a Valkyrie could wish for, from the best warrior horse trainer I know."  
Sigurd simply nodded and got up, too exhausted even to groan from his aching joints.  
"You said the Vet organised the transport?" Sigurd asked, trying to tiredly put on a mask of professionality but failing entirely.  
"Yes. Don't think about it now though," Søren said and stroked over Sigurd's back. "Let's warm up again first, alright?"  
Sigurd closed his eyes and sighed. "Alright."

Søren walked closely at Sigurd's side and when the entered the house again he hung up their jackets in the entry and put the gloves and bonnets aside. Hákon tip toed out of the living room when he heard the door closing, walked silently over to Sigurd and hugged him without either of them saying a word.

Søren disappeared into the kitchen, feeling that Hákon and Sigurd would need time for themselves. Instead he prepared hot cocoa, found some chocolate, quickly washed Sigurd's favourite mug so he could use it right away and put everything on a tablet.

The two of them had in the meantime moved to the living room where they sat silently beside each other on the couch. Søren put the tablet down on the low table in front of them and handed each of them a mug. Both muttered a "thank you", in the same exact voice. Søren settled in an old but very comfortable arm chair and wrapped his hands around his mug.

A look on the clock on the wall told him that it was two in the morning. Tomorrow would be a long and exhausting day. New guests arrived as it would be a Sunday and they'd have to check their riding skills, show them around, horses had to be trained and moved, and fed and cleaned. The renderer would arrive early tomorrow.

Søren looked into that sorrowful face that seemed to have had aged 10 years in the last hours. He saw the circles under his eyes. The slumped down shoulders and the red nose.  
"If you don't mind Sigurd, I can take care of the guests tomorrow. And the horses."  
Sigurd lifted his head, his expression lagging a second behind, as his mind was too full of other thoughts to comprehend.  
"It's too much, Søren," he started declining but Søren would have none of it.  
"I can't take your lessons, no. I'm no mountain wizard. But I can train the horses scheduled for tomorrow and show the guests around. And Hákon can help me checking on the riding skills of them, right?"  
Hákon furrowed his brows but it only took one look at his brother and he nodded.  
"Yeah. You need to rest. If you still feel up for it tomorrow you can give the lessons but the rest Søren and I can handle."  
"Exactly. You need the rest," Søren added and offered Sigurd one of his goofy no-problem-this-is-going-to-be-alright-and-I-try-my-best smiles.  
Sigurd exhaled deeply and looked down at his cocoa.  
"Thank you."

* * *

Trigger warnings: Abusive relationship, retelling an act of rape, animal death


	8. Halloween

Waking up was hard, getting up horrible. It was not the first time Søren had been awake for so long, but usually he planned it in a way he didn't have to get up at five in the morning. He got dressed in a daze, shuffled into the kitchen and made himself a coffee with a lot of milk. He would eat his breakfast when he was done with his first chores and his stomach would allow it.

Mug in hand, coat, scarf and gloves on, he stepped outside. The cold air hit him in the face and he needed a minute to adjust to the cold temperature. The warm coffee helped a bit. It was still pitch-black outside and so he started his day somewhere he could see.

Inside the stables, in the room opposite to where the tack was stored he prepared the hay, grains and supplements and put everything inside the small feed troughs in the boxes. Hákon joined in some time, checked that Søren gave every horse what it needed and helped him then getting the horses from the pastures into the stable.

They then took a quick and silent breakfast and cleaned the fields from horse dung, checked on the water supply, restocked on hay and let the horses out again. At eight O'clock the renderer pulled up on the driveway and took care of Frigga's body. Now the day could start for real.

First Søren rode every horse that was scheduled for Sigurd, reading through every note Hákon had hastily scribbled down for him what he had to focus on. Hákon checked regularly on him, pointed out the horses Søren didn't know, answered all the questions Søren had still. Tino and Berwald both talked for a while with Hákon as Søren could see from horse back. When he joined them, Hákon walked away.

Both Tino and Berwald thanked him for his help, one more vocally than the other. Sigurd didn't join them for lunch. The guests were all excited but exhausted when slowly one car after the other arrived. Søren greeted them with a smile, hesitated when he wanted to tell them what his function here was, and decided he was an auxiliary last second.

Søren just saddled his own horse, having given the guests two hours to settle in, when Sigurd approached him. He wore an oversized fuzzy sweater and black breeches.  
"Join me for a hack?"  
And so, Søren did.

~

They didn't say anything, Sigurd just led the way. Through the forest, up the small mountain, jumping over a creek and past the small cross-country course. He changed the pace often, let them trot, canter, walk and then riding full gallop up the hill on a broad path. Søren was suddenly dragged back to reality when Sigurd finally opened his mouth to speak.  
"You know you're more than an auxiliary, right?"  
Søren chuckled. He turned his head from the small road to Sigurd. For once he could really look down at him, as his own horse was much bigger.  
"Spied on me?" he asked but then shrugged helplessly. "Maybe. But I don't officially work here either."  
"Do you want to?"

Søren sighed. He couldn't. Not for ever at least. He needed to go back to his career. Having this stable at his basis was not ideal at all. It was too remote from every big competition, even from every airport. On the other side, who knew how long he still needed to work on himself to even continue?  
"Yes," he added truthfully but quickly added: "But you know it would only be temporary."  
"Then it is," Sigurd said simply. He knew far too well how business went down with professional riders. "We'll still have to update our website and take a picture of you."  
"Good that my good looks transcend even into pictures," Søren smirked and Sigurd rolled his eyes.  
"It's called being photogenic."  
"You didn't deny my good looks."  
"I deny this conversation," Sigurd bit back. But it didn't help against Søren's grin.

After their ride Sigurd picked up his responsibilities again, broke the guests up into different groups for lessons and hacks and drove then off to give the private lessons at other stables and everyday life resumed. Even though Sigurd seemed to be feeling much better, Søren still kept an eye on him.

He was his supply for coffee during the day and cocoa or alcohol in the evening. When he saw the prominent frown grow back and the eyes staring into the distance, when Sigurd's blue eyes glinted sorrowful, he was there and said something. Anything. He pointed out an animal, asked Sigurd whether he wanted coffee, what the special trait of a horse is they stood close by to, asked him about the next training, about his day, told him a joke or a bad pun when he was lucky enough for an opportunity.

As promised he also helped Berwald with the party preparations and helped Sigurd update the website with his short biography and a picture. The day of the thirty-first of October he stayed after lunch with Berwald in the ice palace.  
The kitchen was the Swede's Kingdom and Søren was not allowed to touch anything he was not told to. At least he had once proven that he was able to produce some very tasty pastry and so he did that, before he went over to the living room and decorated it.

He hung up garlands with skeletons, placed candles on every surface available, distributed plastic spiders, eyes and skulls evenly across the room, put out the trays with food he already could, shoved the large and heavy table to the side and looked for a good playlist for the hi-fi system.

When it got dark he helped Berwald set the trays and plates with different finger food, dessert and candy on the table. To end all of it he set out the two pumpkins which Tino and Peter had carved outside before the steps up the porch. He lit them up, and added some other candles on the steps and handrailing of the porch and the outdoor tables.

Now everything was ready, beside of himself. Quickly he slipped into his room and took out the costume he had found in town. It was a cheap one but it would hold for a night. It was a simple squire costume. But the red tunic with the golden lion let Søren feel more like a knight. Despite wearing nothing else underneath it than a white, loose shirt and skinny pants.

He added his old pair of chaps, put on the brown leather belt and looked at himself in the mirror. Not too bad and it would do for tonight. He ran his hand through his hair and nodded at himself in the mirror. He had a mission. Make it fun for Peter, cheer up Sigurd if needed and look after that the guests are entertained. Easy enough.

Peter and Tino were the first to enter of course. Before Søren could even cross the hallway to say hello, Peter already jumped at him and roared. He hugged his hips and gnarled as he looked up the tall man. Søren laughed surprised and looked down. Peter wore what looked like furry pyjamas with a hood and added dog ears. His face was painted to have the same look of fur.

"Oh no! It's the dangerous Werewolf!" Peter howled, let go of Søren and instead went to look for his other father. Søren looked after him and turned then towards Tino and jumped. His skull mask was more frightening than it should be.  
"Oh my god Tino! Where'd you get that mask?!"  
Tino lifted his hand and took it off. The face underneath was much more welcome. He smiled broadly at Søren.  
"Like it? I made it myself."  
"The costume too?" Søren asked and whistled. Tino sported some sort of awesome ghost pirate attire with added laces, burn marks, golden buttons and even a fake pistol. Although upon a closer look, Søren wasn't so sure whether that gun was fake or not.  
"Bought, changed and sewn together."  
"Wow, now my costume is no match," Søren laughed.  
"It suits you though," Tino cheered him up. "Now I'll have to look after that Peter won't raid all of the candies already."  
"I'll stay here and welcome the guests then."

And the guests arrived indeed one group of residents of a cottage at a time. Søren greeted them, commented on their costumes, smiled, told them, that the living room was the place to go to of course. Witches, vampires, a nurse and some fairies passed him.

At one point Hákon sneaked down from his room and Søren almost didn't see him. But he heard the old wood creak and turned around.  
"Hákon! You're also costumed!"  
The young man blushed faintly and looked aside. "Just for Peter."  
"It looks good, young… Fire sprite?" Søren tilted his head. Hákon was clad in an orange vest, which had a dip die towards a yellow on his shoulders. His pants were a dark brown with some red dynamic lines on it, like lava that peeks through the cracked earth. He wore his high black riding boots and a light-yellow shirt underneath.  
"It's one of our show costumes," Hákon explained.  
"Oh, it looks amazing." Søren smiled. "Does Sigurd come down as well?"  
Hákon nodded. "Yeah, he's changing."  
"Good!" Søren smiled. "I think all the guests are here anyways. Let's go and eat. I'm starving."  
Hákon smirked lopsided. "Berwald didn't let you eat, huh?"  
Søren made a whining sound and shook his head. "He's got an ice-cold heart and a soul of steel, to forbid me from tasting some of his food. Me, a hard-working individual and his decorating slave."  
Hákon merely rolled his eyes but followed the Dane into the living room.

Sigurd did join them eventually. Similarly, to Hákon he must have worn one of his show outfits. When he entered the room, he managed to go by unnoticed. Almost, as Søren had always an eye on the door for when Sigurd would come. The music was playing joyful Halloween songs, the guests were talking, laughing and playing fearful for Peter. The ones who didn't need alcohol to be daring enough to dance, already did, the others were working on it.

Søren made it through the room without spilling his drink and smiled broadly at Sigurd who took a piece from the chocolate cake.  
"Skipping dinner and going straight to the desert?" Søren laughed and checked Sigurd out.

He looked absolutely stunning in his tight white pants, the high leather boots covering his knees, the green brocade vest with golden embroidery depicting a ranking plant with flowers, a white linen shirt and a green sort of scarf tied around his hips. His hair on the left side was held back by a elaborate hair pin in the shape of a Scandinavian cross, fitting the stitching on his clothes.

"It's bought from my money, I can eat whatever I want," Sigurd retorted and took another bite as emphasis of his statement.  
"You always have a retort ready, haven't you?"  
"It wouldn't be me if that weren't the case."  
"True," Søren chuckled, opened a bottle of beer and handed it to him. "Let's drink to that."  
Sigurd took the bottle, looked in Søren's bright eyes and clanked bottles with him.  
"To our wonderful annoying personalities," he said and took a sip, Søren did the same.

As they stood there and watched the guests enjoying themselves, Sigurd satisfied first his grumbling stomach, before he would drink more from the stronger alcohol.  
"Say, I never asked you this, but do you do a lot of the shows, you need that costume for?" Søren asked.  
"Every few weeks or months," Sigurd answered. "Right now, during fall we don't have too many opportunities. But in the beginning of the summer on competitions before everyone leaves for vacation and during winter there are more requests. But we're building up our popularity and program so there will be more in the future."  
"So you do your liberty tricks and academic riding and such?"  
Sigurd nodded. "But usually only for small audiences. Like some Christmas celebration at a nearby stable or for an intercommunal show. It's barely payed but the children love it and it is great publicity."  
"That's awesome!" Søren said. "You have to take me with you when you do your next one."  
"Sure thing."  
"Really?"  
Sigurd shrugged. "The youngsters would surely love to watch an international rider live in their small stable and maybe even give some tips."  
"Oh, wow. Even more pressure to get well again," Søren laughed nervously.  
"Don't worry about that now. You have progressed a lot the past weeks. You'll be back to the international standard sooner than you think."  
Søren nodded and smiled softly.  
He owed this man in front of him so much. Where would he be now without him? Probably giving riding lessons and being bitter about his students having the future in front of them.

Soon enough their talk was joined by some guests who wanted to have a nice chat with them. Søren could see the internal screaming in Sigurd's head having to talk to practical strangers outside of his lessons or field of expertise. But Søren himself was stuck in a chat about Denmark and Germany and the Netherlands and how different it is to be here.

Someone seemed to have turned up the volume of the music even more, the laughter grew louder and at one point, it must have been past ten O'clock, Berwald carried a Peter out of the house who was in denial despite yawning into his father's shoulder. Now that the playlist of the Halloween songs had ended, the typical party songs were on. Søren didn't know who had regulated the playlist but it seemed a crazy mix of the past three decades. He didn't mind and the others neither.

He was talking to Tino, who just told him a story of him once drinking a Russian guy under the table and celebrating then half naked outside in the snow, when he spotted Sigurd. His expression was already weary, a small drunken haze was over his eyes as he nodded along to what an elderly lady told him. Now, Søren thought to himself, was the point at which he could use his 'one-time-saving-Sigurd-out-of-a-conversation-coin'.  
"I'll quickly save Sigurd over there," he explained to Tino, pointing his empty bottle of beer at him. Tino nodded.  
"Think he'll need it."

And thus, Tino disappeared to gather cups and empty bottles and Søren strolled through the room towards the desired man.  
"Excuse me, but I'd like to borrow this man for a dance," he swooped in just as an answer was expected from Sigurd. The woman with curly short hair, a feathered green mask fitted around her eyes and red lipstick smiled so that her wrinkles deepened. "I am sorry, I didn't know I was stealing him from the dance."  
"You weren't," Sigurd interjected and his eyes were awake again and regarded Søren questioning. "I didn't plan on dancing at all, in fact."  
"Oh, but I did," Søren said in a honeyed tone.  
"Well I'll leave you young Gentlemen then to your dispute," the woman joked, raised her cup of wine towards them and left to find her husband somewhere.

"Great, now you ruined a perfectly okay conversation."  
"You looked more like you were having a perfectly sleepy conversation."  
Sigurd crossed his arms, but kept his cup filled with something clear in his hand. "I still won't dance."  
"Oh come on," Søren whined playfully. "I just want to ask the most handsome prince of this masquerade ball for a dance."  
Sigurd rolled his eyes but Søren could swear it wasn't just the alcohol tainting his cheeks red. "There are too many people watching."  
"Not if you only have your eyes set on me," Søren laughed and waggled with his eyebrows.  
"They still are going to see us move our bodies awkwardly around."  
"But riders I heard, are good dancers," Søren murmured. "Body control and all of that." He smirked. "And even if you think you move yourself awkwardly, you'll still be the most handsome person in the room."  
"Fine," Sigurd sighed, raised his cup and chugged down the rest of his drink. "I guess I have enough alcohol in me now to endure it."  
Søren took the cup out of Sigurd's hands and placed it alongside his bottle on the window sill. He then turned to Sigurd, bowed lightly and offered him a hand.  
"If I may?"  
"You're an idiot." But Sigurd still laid his hand on the other's and was then pulled to Søren who managed to capture those dark eyes with his broad and maybe a bit triumphant smile.

Sigurd would not admit it out loud afterwards, but after the first song he forgot the other people indeed. Søren made sure of it, by his movements, his eyes, the lips that formed into that happy smile, the warm hands guiding him to a new movement when he was at a loss on what to do. They danced their own versions of a waltz, of disco and some sort of rhythmic gymnastics warm up. When Barbie Girl blasted out of the speakers, they forgot that they didn't want to look silly and sung along. Loud and off key, together with the other guests. Finally, they ended with a joke tango turned serious to some rock song.

When a slow song came on, they were standing close to each other with heaving chests, sparkling eyes and fond smiles. Slowly the outside world was returning to them, the couples having embraced each other to sway slowly back and forth, the others using the opportunity to stock up on snacks and drinks. The alcohol was somewhat wearing off again. It was enough to think clear, but not enough to get that high wiped away in a second. It still got those smiles slightly brighter and cheeks a bit redder.

"Excuse me Gentlemen?" an elderly voice they had heard an hour ago asked. "I may need some help with my husband." Sigurd cleared his throat and straightened himself. "How can I help you Madam?" he asked as he pulled his vest and shirt back to order.  
"Lloyd has this bad habit of liking Jägermeister just a bit too much," the elderly woman with the green mask sighed. "You know at the last party he eve-"  
"Is your husband in need for a doctor?" Sigurd interrupted her and lowered his head towards her small but sturdy figure as if to hear better. His brows were already furrowed and his eyes looked at the lady he was speaking to before for a small eternity. He really didn't have time for tales.  
"Oh no, just a bed would do him nice. But I'm not able to bring him back to our cottage, dear."  
Sigurd nodded and looked at Søren but before he could ask him Søren smiled reassuringly at the woman. "Sure thing. We'll carry him over. Just tell us which one and we're on our way with some painkillers for tomorrow if needed."  
The woman laughed and waved it off. "Oh darling, if my Lloyd chooses to get drunk it's also his decision to carry the consequences. It's cottage four."

Sigurd was glad having Søren at his side when they managed to get Lloyd on his feet, both of his arms wrapped around their shoulders. He was as heavy as he looked like with his round belly and strong yet short legs. The old man must have been in his sixties but once he woke up as they stepped into the cold night air he was not unlike his wife and started telling stories of former parties lived through. Søren had to stifle his laughter and received weird glances from Sigurd. The stories told were more frightening than funny.

Only when they plopped the man on the bed in the cottage and leaving the couple with good wishes for the night and morning, he got to ask.  
"What is so funny?"  
They walked side by side and the few lanterns on their way gave Søren a warm glow. And even when the night air was freezing cold and a soft breeze ran through their thin clothing, they didn't hurry. Søren shrugged, sighed and beamed at Sigurd.  
"I'm just happy."  
"You're weird," Sigurd uttered but a small smile snuck onto his lips.  
"Weird and happy."  
The cold drove them closer together. Their hands almost brushed against each other. Sigurd just opened his mouth to say something, when Søren was a second faster than him.  
"You know, you make me happy."  
Sigurd's words died on his tongue and he was glad that both of them had their cheeks already red.

They stood in front of the ice palace. The loud music was gone and the wind carried the soft nostalgic tunes of a guitar joined by a deep voice to their ears.  
"Sure, it isn't just because you got over your fear?" Sigurd asked.  
"Sure," Søren said, with a seriousness in his voice that left little doubt. They stood face to face, closer than Sigurd would normally allow. Slowly their hands found each other. But Sigurd's eyes never left that warm face. Søren was so warm. His hands, his gaze, his smile, his movements and his care.  
"How did I do it?" Sigurd said, his voice being barely more than a whisper. Søren leaned in, Sigurd felt how he was mimicking him. Their hearts were beating loud and fast and in tact. Sigurd couldn't say which hand was holding which. He felt how Søren drew in breath to answer him, when the front door was thrown open.  
"Sigurd?" Hákon called into the night.  
Both men jumped and quickly let go of each other's hands like guilty teenagers when a parent barged into the room.

If Søren was disappointed or angry, he didn't show it. Sigurd only caught a final, wistful glance from him when he had to face his brother.  
"What is it?" Did his voice sound more annoyed than it should be? Yeah, but maybe it was supposed to be annoyed, he thought.  
"I was just wondering where you guys are. Berwald started to sing. Thought Søren would want to hear that." Hákon didn't leave the front porch but stood there with crossed arms and an unreadable expression.  
"Oh, so its him!" Søren said and started marching up the few steps. "Shouldn't miss that, eh?" he said, patted Hákon's shoulder and entered the house, not without a last apologetic glance towards Sigurd, to join the circle that has formed around the Swede.

Sigurd followed slower but instead of joining the guests he turned right and entered the kitchen. After the cold and the only pair of eyes that were looking at him having been Søren's just seconds before, the living room seemed too much for him then. Too warm, too loud, too many people. He didn't have to turn around to know that Hákon had followed him.

His feet hurt from the dancing and the long day he had worked. It was late and his shoulders grew heavy with exhaustion. And still he felt the shadow of the smile before on his lips. His hands tingled where Søren had held them. His heart was still beating loudly against his ribs. He stood in front of the sink and wondered what exactly he wanted to do here.

"Søren seems to like you," Hákon said out of the blue. He sat at the small kitchen table and let the tip of his fingers tap on the light wood creating a thoughtful and unnerving beat.  
"It seems so," Sigurd said and scolded himself for smiling. Until he tilted his head and wondered, why exactly he should scold himself for that. It made him smile even broader. Yes. Søren did like him. He made him happy.  
"And do you like Søren too?" Hákon continued, his violet eyes set firmly on his older brother with a crease of worry between his brows, not unlike Sigurd wears it himself occasionally.  
Sigurd hesitated before he answered. "Yes. I like him." Sigurd opened a kitchen cabinet and took out a glass which he filled with cold water.  
"Like, like like him, or…?"  
Sigurd sighed and turned around to face Hákon, so he could look at him with his glance that said 'you know exactly what I mean little brother, dear'.

Berwald started a new song, Á Sprengisandi. An Icelandic folk song about returning safely to home. One of Sigurd and Hákon's favourites. The two brothers stood automatically still when they heard the tunes and recognised it. They listened to that deep voice, the melancholic tunes of the guitar. They looked past the Swedish accent which only gave the text an additional sense of being far away from home, longing, hardships, worry and trust. Both were immediately carried to other times. To other places. The song ended, Berwald earned applause and some requests for songs he just had to know according to the guests.

Having the spell been broken, Hákon looked at Sigurd and slowly stood back up. Maybe the melancholy of the song was still caught in his eyes, maybe it was a concern for his brother, that made Sigurd feel loved.  
"Be careful."  
Sigurd furrowed his brows. Hákon averted his eyes but stood firmly. "You know, you have a certain type and even if Søren seems to be nice and all I don't know whether-"  
"Søren wouldn't hurt a fly," Sigurd answered colder than he wanted to.  
"I know, I know," Hákon sighed. "That's not what I was implying but he can still break hearts." He lifted his gaze again. "He can break _your_ heart."  
"I am stronger now, Hákon." Sigurd said softly and put down his glass in order to step closer.  
"But last time, you…"  
"Last time it was a different person. It was a different me. It was a different time." Sigurd laid his hand on Hákon's shoulder and looked at his little brother with such fondness in his eyes, Hákon thought that it just wasn't possible to betray this man's heart.  
"I don't want you to suffer again. I mean, we don't even know if he can even continue to live here because of his dream," he murmured.  
"I won't. I know that I'll still have you by my side. That I have this family, this place, my horses…" Sigurd trailed off. One horse he didn't have anymore. But he knew she was looking after him still.  
"Promise you'll tell me if you are hurt. When you start again…"  
Sigurd smiled and small wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes.  
"You'll be the first to know. But it won't happen. Nobody is ever going to be able anymore to push me to that place."  
Hákon nodded. "Then I allow you to like him back and act on it."  
Sigurd laughed softly and pulled the boy in a hug. "Thanks." He felt the arms reluctantly wrap around his torso and Sigurd closed his eyes. He had to savour every hug he got out of this stubborn boy.


	9. Aurora Borealis

The next morning everything seemed to be slower. He stood up at his usual hour which had left him with 3 hours of sleep and a double espresso instead of his usual morning coffee. Even Hákon took a deep swig of coffee before he left with him for the stables.  
Søren had been stumbling into the kitchen without his pants and his hoodie turned inside out. He joined them a bit later.  
At least they had cleaned up everything from the party before they went to bed so they could directly head for a ready-made breakfast. They ate alone, as most of the guests rather opted for the latest possibility to take their meal.

And thus, the day continued as it usually did. Training, catching a glance at Sigurd's bottoms, cleaning the stables and making eye contact with Søren, cleaning the pastures and standing still to admire each other moving on top of his horse in gallop, walking close side by side when they returned to the ice palace to eat. The following days went similar, although with less horrid dark circles under their eyes.

Hákon, Berwald and Tino watched in silent frustration. There just never seemed to be a romantic enough situation for both of them to finally confess. No matter how much Berwald, Tino and Hákon tried to give them space, lighting candles seemingly at random, taking over chores, so Søren and Sigurd could relax with each other.

At least that would have been the plan, if Sigurd wouldn't just use that time for tasks he usually never had time for and Søren to instead talk and write with his friends and family. To see them only sending glances, brushing hands and shoulders, smiles and sighs was barely acceptable.

That was until they were packing for a special riding tour, to marvel at the winter wonderland and hopefully catch a glimpse at the northern lights if their luck was generous enough. The trip would last three days, the customers were as international as it could get and had varying experience with horses.

Sigurd was already done with the people on their trip when they finally entered the forest after a minute of riding. Søren was the last man, chatting with a young woman with a heavy Russian accent and red hair down to her lower back. An American couple tried to make small talk with a Swiss family who already looked uncomfortable and Sigurd was glad that he could at least save their little girl from the flood of questions and stories.

She was a cute but very shy eight-year old with pouty lips and brown fringes, covering her eye brows. He had at his side a rope to secure her horse to his in case she got frightened and lost control of it. But the Icelandic she rode was such a gentle soul who had never bucked a rider off in his life, that Sigurd deemed it safe enough to let her gain confidence by riding on her own.  
Right behind him rode the English twin boys. And after them was their father and a pudgy German woman.

Soon enough they could start trotting and finally all of the talking faded out, as the crisp wind blew past the rider's faces, the stomping of the hooves filled the ears, the warm bodies of the horses moving beneath them filled the minds with a sort of concentration and occupation, that the attention was drawn to the nature instead to another person. Or the world and its problems and one's own worries. Everything cleared.

The trees passed them, the moss in between the snow was a blur and the cold in some of the rider's toes was a pain worth to endure for the beauty of the moment. Snow fell from the trees, some single snowflakes even made it down to earth directly from the sky. Squirrels climbed pine trees, the tiny streams filled the silence with soft music, adding to the drums of the horses.

All went well, until the twins got bored. They had already had a short lunch break at a small public cabin for fishermen where there also was a privy.  
"Listen, everybody!" Sigurd raised his voice, when everyone was done eating. "We'll have another three hours before we arrive at the cabin." Sigurd's eyes shot to the twins who had rolled their eyes. "Sunset is just a bit before we arrive, so when it is dark I advise you to trust your horses as they see more than you. Don't disturb them too much, let them find the path. A hot meal and a preheated cabin awaits us at our arrival."

He received smiles, some motivated comments and a bad joke. But the twins were only groaning. Why were they even here?  
Sigurd was tense throughout the next two hours. When he had seen them for the first time he knew immediately, that they were troublemakers.  
Even their names, Fred and George couldn't have been a coincidence. At least their father had been having a constant eye on them. But now? That German lady must have been really distracting as he could only hear their flirting, instead of telling the boys to not whisper like that and conjuring up some evil master plan.

But when the sky cleared and offered them a beautiful sun set of oranges, golds and reds on top of the hill, Sigurd let himself be distracted. The horses were walking down hill again on a narrow path, one after another, when it happened.  
Sigurd heard a horse shriek and the unmistakable sound of one bucking and bolting. He halted his horse and turned around. His eyes widened in shock as he saw the horse of one of the twins racing towards him and the little girl. The boy, Fred?, didn't even try to stop it.

The eyes of the horse were wild, the head held high and it was too late. The boy only laughed as he crashed into the little girl's horse. Sigurd just wanted to thank the gods, that he had put her on such a gentle one who would only stomp nervously, when the other twin produced another pebble out of his pocket.

"George?!" The father managed to yell, before the jagged stone left the boy's hand. The girl was already clutching onto the reins and crying, when the stone hit the croup of her horse.  
George had a killer aim. Even Sigurd's horse would have bolted away, if he hadn't soothed it immediately down and checked it in with his seat and reins. But the little girl had no chance.

Her horse bolted off through the undergrowth of the forest. Fred laughed and as his horse wanted to follow the girl he didn't stop it. All of the other horses stood still in anxious tension or being held back by their more experienced riders. The whole group was hushing and talking softly, petting the horses and looking confused to the head of the group.  
"What's happening?"  
"Everyone okay?"  
"Shhhh…"  
"Sigurd?!" Søren called from way back.  
"George!" The poor father looked shocked, with gaping mouth and horrified eyes switching between him and the bushes behind which the girl and Fred had disappeared.

Sigurd's nostrils flared, his eyes managed to shut down the boy's laughter with one cold strike and the father urged his horse forward, shielding George from Sigurd's wrath. For a moment it looked like Sigurd would slap the boy, with his arms tense and his eye twitching.  
"Sigurd what happened?" Søren called and his horse carefully made it past the other horses through the snow aside the path in order to group up with Sigurd.

The man in question blinked and missed how both the father and his son relaxed, when he turned his gaze to Søren instead. He gulped down all of his anger and fury to release it later, when he saw that even Søren looked worried now. He could take care of those feelings when less people watched and no one was in way of harm.

"Lovn and Balder bolted away because a certain kid thought it would be funny to throw stones at them."  
"What?!" Søren looked disbelieving at the only kid in their small circle. George hid his face in his red scarf, playing with the mane of his Norwegian horse, Hod.  
"We need to find them before night fall."  
"That's now."  
"I know," Sigurd bit back. "That's why we'll need to split up and get our guests to the cabin."  
"Wait! We need to help!" A high-pitched voice came from the mother of the girl.  
"Yeah, we're a search party!" the American guy joined in.  
"No." Sigurd glared at his guests. "It is getting dark. You don't know the horses, the terrain, the forest. You have no lights to guide you."  
"You shouldn't look for them alone though," the American said.  
"That's why I am going to join him," Søren smiled.  
"And how are we going to find the cabin?" the father asked, but Søren was faster.  
"I'll call Berwald. He can run to meet you. It's just down this path. No chance to get lost."

He bit one finger of his glove, slid his hand out of it and already dialed his number. The reception was awful but he was quite sure, that Berwald got the message. He and Sigurd moved off the path and slowly the procession, led by George and his father, made their way downhill. Without wasting a minute, Sigurd led his horse cross country.  
"Let's go. The horses fled into the direction of home. If we're lucky they have calmed down by now, seeing that the herd didn't follow."  
"Let's hope you're right," Søren sighed and followed.

True to Sigrud's words, the forest got dark, really fast. The shadows elongated and merged together. The owls were awake and other animals, Søren would have loved not to meet eye to eye.  
"Fred! Hannah!" he was calling into the silence.  
"Lovn! Balder!" Sigurd was calling for the horses.

And indeed, suddenly something stepped on a twig, they could hear someone sobbing and sniffling and there they crossed path with a Fjord horse and its frightened rider. Balder was relaxed and had its ears peaking forward, as if expecting a treat for having returned to its owner.  
"Oh, thank god, you're still sitting on him." Sigurd jumped off his horse and marched to the boy. "You're alright, you're with us." He laid his hand on the trembling ones, still holding onto the reins.

Fred nodded, tears streaming over his cheeks. "I'm s-so sorry."  
"I'll give you a lecture when we're out of the cold," Sigurd sighed and made a quick round around the horse to see if it was hurt somewhere.  
"Have you seen the little girl?" Søren asked and looked around, hoping to see the other horse emerge as well.  
"She was ahead… Heard her screaming." Fred averted his eyes.  
"So she at least made it until here still on horseback," Sigurd concluded and returned to his mount.  
"She can't be far," Søren said and looked on the screen of his phone. "But if we can't find her soon we'll have to call the police."  
"Agreed," Sigurd said, tension heavy in his voice. "It is going to be a cold night too." He looked around, checking on any land marks. "We also have to look out to not get lost ourselves."  
"Not a bad idea," Søren mused.  
"Not far from here is a lake. With some luck that might have stopped Lovn. The horses should be thirsty after the long ride. If we won't find her there, we'll call."  
"Sounds like a plan," Søren said and nudged his horse forward, and together they thrust through the darkness.

Søren didn't know how Sigurd managed to navigate through the forest, almost blind. It was a clear night, but the moon could only provide so much light, that he could make out the trees around him. They were like black figures, crowding around them, reaching for him with their long black fingers. Did he imagine the whisper hushing from tree to tree? And that howl? Were there wolves on a hunt tonight? He was glad he could trust his horse to find the right path. He was even more glad having Sigurd in front of him.

Suddenly Sigurd looked up and the horses turned their heads towards a sound. A sound, they had heard before already. Someone was crying in the distance.  
"Hannah?" Sigurd called. More distant wailing was the answer.  
"Oh thank the gods," Søren sighed and couldn't hide a smile of relief.  
Now that they had a auditive path to find Hannah it was a matter of minutes to find her.

What they found was less great. She was lying in the snow near the lake, shivering, crying and clutching her leg.  
Sigurd jumped off his horse and ran towards her.  
"Hannah!"  
She immediately looked up and began babbling in German. Søren understood enough to know that she was scared and that her leg hurt like hell.

Søren slid off his horse and took hold of the reins of Sigurd's one. Slowly he approached the two on the ground.  
"Es wird alles gut," Sigurd said in the softest tone, which was usually only reserved for family and horses. He had managed to calm her down enough, that she let him check on her foot.

Carefully he removed her boot, seemingly in slow motion. He sucked the air in between his teeth when he more felt than saw how swollen the ankle was. Quickly he slid off his gloves and palpated her ankle with the tips of his fingers.  
"Nicht gebrochen." He managed a weak smile and handed her a handful of snow. "Aufs Bein. Ich rede mit Søren." Hannah followed his instructions, whimpering.

Sigurd slowly stood up again and was face to face with a flabbergasted Søren.  
"You can speak German!"  
Sigurd rolled his eyes. "You knew that already and it is not our priority. We won't make it back to the others with her leg as long as it is as dark as now. Riding is going to hurt like hell. The horses are tired too and might trip on these narrow paths."  
"What do we do then? We can't just stay here?!"  
Sigurd pointed with his index finger towards the lake. "There is a public cabin with blankets, a fire place and with a bit of luck some left over wood from the end of season."  
"Do you have the keys?"  
"There's nothing valuable in it so it's without a lock."  
"What do we do with Hannah? If she can't ride then…"  
"I'll carry her."  
Søren puffed his cheeks and looked at the man in front of him. He loved him for being so resourceful. And he hated him for playing the hero and leaving him this useless.  
"If it takes too long to get there, you'll let me carry her too."  
Sigurd nodded courtly. "Call Berwald please. The parents need to know asap."

The way to the cabin was short, but it took a much longer time than any of the group would have wished for. Sigurd carried Hannah on his back, paying attention to not touch her foot or make any sudden movements. Søren was back on horseback so he could talk on his phone and hold the reins of Sigurd's horse at the same time. Not that it would suddenly run away, but Søren just wanted to be sure not to have any more search parties that night.

The parents were both relieved to hear that the children were found, worried about Hannah's condition and anxious, that they'd have to stay in a cabin away from them. But Søren promised to let the children talk with them before they'd go to sleep. After another ten minutes of walking they found Lovn at the border of the lake, watching them slowly approaching, as if to say "Where have you been?! I was waiting for hours."

The cabin was only fifty metres away from her. With a low groan Sigurd slowly set Hannah down on the bench outside the small cottage. He opened the door and quickly checked the inventory before ordering Søren to take care of the horses.  
Søren did as ordered and took off the saddles and bridles which he placed against the wall of the small cottage. The horses immediately went to the lake to drink and went off to look for something to eat under the snow. Søren trusted they wouldn't run away too far during the night and entered their new sleeping place with the saddle bags in his arms.

It was not much more than four wooden walls, a roof and a chimney with metal bars to place pans and pots. Beside the chimney was a row of benches, which contained wooden boxes and in front of them was a narrow table. At the other two walls were three small beds with barely existing mattresses. On one was Fred, curled up in a blanket and making himself as small as possible. Hannah sat on the second one, watching Sigurd who blew into the small fire he created in the fire place. Content with how the red flames licked on the old wood he stood up again.  
"Ah, good you brought the bags," he said. "I have a first aid kit in mine."

It didn't take long and it was almost cosy inside. The fire was still burning, they had shared the little food they still had from lunch. Sigurd even found some left over tea from the previous visitors and they cooked it up with an old pot. Hannah and Fred had been able to talk to their parents and were already much calmer.

Hannah was soon asleep with the pain killers making her sleepy, her foot resting elevated on a folded jacket and bandaged. Fred too was asleep. Causing so much havoc with his brother and then feeling the immediate consequences had apparently drained him. Søren watched over them before he refilled his and Sigurd's cup with the remaining tea.

The night was cold indeed, yet beautiful. The snow glittered in the pale moon light. It hasn't been cold enough for the lake to freeze completely and a crisp breeze let the water curl and shine. The horses were resting not too far away. But the most beautiful thing was Sigurd sitting on the bench, watching the large animals with a thoughtful expression.

His hair glowed silver in the pale light and his expression was almost serene, all the worry and anxiety behind the stone face seemed to have fallen off him. He only looked up, when Søren raised the cup in front of his face.  
"Thank you." Sigurd carefully took the tea, but didn't drink from it yet.  
"No problem. You had an exhausting day after all."  
"You too."

Søren stood still. It was much too cold to sit. Unless Sigurd would allow him to sit shoulder to shoulder, letting him lean on his strong figure and wrapping an arm around his waist.  
"Hm." Søren clasped the cup with both of his hands, enjoying the warmth on his naked fingers. "How did you learn German?" he asked again after a minute of comfortable silence. "In all my years that I have lived in the Netherlands and I can barely order a meal, and here you are talking perfect German."  
"I had it in school and Alexander spoke it with me." Sigurd didn't meet his eyes but instead was again studying his horses.  
"Oh."  
"A reason why I have a lot of German speaking guests. So that's something I get out of it."  
"Yeah." Søren bit his cheek. He would much rather kick himself. Of course, Sigurd would have learned German from his German ex-boyfriend. And he did hear Sigurd talk German before, right? How could he have been so stupid? He took a sip of his bitter tea.

"How's Laura? Edvard doesn't tell much about her lately."  
Søren almost choked on his tea but when he saw the mischief on Sigurd's face he had to smile. "You ass!"  
Sigurd chuckled and with a smirk he explained: "Payback for your thoughtlessness." Søren sighed theatrically and offered Sigurd his hand, for an apology. "I am sorry. Please accept?" For effect he put on his best puppy eyes. Sigurd laughed and even if it was short, and small and technically more of a chuckle, it was as if the gates to the heavens had opened. Sigurd accepted and pulled himself up to stand at Søren's side.

"You're an idiot," he said, smiling still. He must be tired, exhausted, done with people and the world. But here he was, smiling at him, bantering and being full of life, offering something he only did with the people close to him. Søren couldn't help but look at this man. At the crinkles around his eyes, the dimples that showed much too rarely, the gleam in his eyes that would make Loki proud.  
"You're amazing," he breathed.  
"What?" Sigurd tilted his head ever so slightly.  
"I said you-" But Sigurd's hand interrupted him as it grabbed his arm. With the other hand which was still holding his cup he pointed towards the sky.  
"The night is dancing for us."

Søren turned around and there it was. The Aurora Borealis, flashing in greens and blues over their heads. Søren was transfixed and watched the spectacle. He barely noticed, how Sigurd took his cup from his hands and placed them on the bench. It was years, if not two decades since the last time he had seen the Northern lights. Tonight, they were not the strongest, not the broadest or the most colourful. But Søren didn't care.

If he didn't take this as a sign, he would have been an idiot. He turned around to Sigurd, who was already looking at him with those dark eyes. Did he have the same green light shimmering in his eyes? It didn't take a word for the other to step closer.

Søren noticed his lashes, his high cheek bones, he noticed the lips which he had only dared to touch in his dreams. Those lightly parted lips. He almost didn't dare lifting his hand to cup Sigurd's cheek, brushing his hair to the side. Almost. He felt an arm wrapping around his waist, a hand resting on his back. They were so close. He felt their shared warmth. Their shared breath. He closed his eyes.

Sigurd's lips were chapped but oh so kissable. He loved the feel of roughness that were his lips but the moment of sweetness they conveyed. He loved how they melted into each other, how close he was to the man he fell in love with so slowly he couldn't say when he started to. He loved how they both still lingered in the delight of the kiss, barely even parting and just enjoying the moment. Having the other finally in their arms.  
"I love you," Søren whispered and his smile melted into the second kiss they shared. A bit more passionate, a bit deeper, a bit closer.


	10. Talk

The morning started early enough. Søren was woken up by Sigurd stirring, stretching, turning and finally sitting up. It was still dark outside, but with a short glance at his phone Sigurd sighed and put on his sweater and jacket.  
Being low on battery Sigurd first called Berwald outside the cabin to agree on a meeting point and time before checking on the horses. Søren meanwhile started a fire in the cabin to cook up some water with the last two cubs of wood. He greeted the kids with a cheery good morning and checked on the girl's foot.

Just in time for the tea to be done Sigurd re-entered and helped to get everything cleaned, packed up and ready for departure. With growling stomachs, they mounted the horses and Sigurd lead the way through the forest. Søren tried to retrace where they came from the night before but he couldn't say anymore which path they had taken.  
Every time the girl whimpered because her horse did an unexpected movement, Søren tried to reassure her despite them not speaking the same language. Sigurd frequently asked in German, whether she needed a break, but she always declined and showed her thumb up. The boy remained silent through the whole ordeal which was probably the best he could do in that situation.

Berwald met them with a thermos filled with hot coffee, sandwiches and some juice for the kids in front of a road block, stopping him from taking the route closer to the fisher cottage. Sigurd quickly recapped what had happened as they stood beside the car, the kids inside to warm up. After his first cup of coffee he was already much more relaxed and the constant small frown had vanished.

"I'll rejoin the group and continue as planned. You are taking the girl and one of her parents to the doc?"  
Berwald nodded. "The father 'n I will go. He's not much of an 8-hours horseback rider anyway, or so he told me."  
"He doesn't look like one either," Sigurd mused.  
"Wait, what with me?" Søren asked and furrowed his brows. "You said 'I', not 'we'…"  
"I thought you might want to stay at the guest cabin, get warmed up and rest some for the day."  
"And you?"  
"I have to lead the group. I know my way around and there is no reason why both of us have to continue despite being tired and cold."  
"And the boy?" Søren asked.  
"He'll have to continue if his father wishes so. Under my close watch."  
"I won't feel good knowing you have to work whilst I relax in the warmth."  
"You can take charge of the group in the evening. Entertain them, play games and so on. Berwald is going to be occupied in the kitchen and I'll be too tired to tell my traditional stories."  
"I don't feel good about this."  
"I know. You're too good of a person to just accept it. But you are officially my employee and I am responsible for your well-being. So, I order you to rest and take charge in the evening instead."  
"That's no fair." Søren crossed his arms and pouted. He knew Sigurd had a point but his conscience kept on nagging.  
"Life is not fair. Now come and take your horse. The group is waiting."

Sigurd barely had time to refill his bag with lunch, water and the bit of coffee remaining from breakfast when he remounted his horse which could meanwhile feed on hay. Søren watched him leave as the head of the group, Fred at his side, George right behind him together with his father so he could have a close eye on them. Berwald, the girl and her father had already left for the doctor. All he had to do now was to take care of his and Hannah's horse and to get warm again. Easy enough.

Waiting was hard. He sat huddled in a blanket in front of the lit fire place. The horses were fed with the hay Berwald brought up here, he had taken a hot shower and had already prepared the tables for dinner. He wiggled his toes and checked constantly his phone.  
A message from Edvard urging him to tell him all that had happened during the night. If Laura knew. If Sigurd knew that Laura did not. That he would make his threats true if Søren would not instantly man up. Did his parents know they should prepare for either a funeral or a son in law?

Søren turned his phone upside down so he wouldn't see the screen lighting up constantly. His sponsors had written emails the other day that he hadn't read yet. The horse owners tried to contact him. They needed results or a decision. Søren hated waiting alone. He picked up his phone again, dialled in Laura's number. Erased it again and instead answered his sponsors and owners of his horses that he would look into the competitions he could enter here. Laura's number again.

"Søren?" Her voice chimed in as clear and light as a summer's day. Gods, he had missed her and the voice and the good vibes she emitted even through the phone. But he needed to tell her. For her own good. For his good. For Sigurd.  
"Hi, Laura," he said silently, as if someone might be eaves dropping. But he was alone in this cabin.  
"Hi. How are you?" Søren was silent and thought.  
"Much better."  
"And your riding?"  
"Much better as well. Not competing yet but I'm getting there. That teacher Edvard sent me to really is a magician."  
"You mean Sigurd?" She laughed. "Yeah, he also looks like one, doesn't he? Soooo mysterious."  
"You know him?!"  
"How could I not? He's one of Edvard's best friends. You know, they both share their darkest secret together."  
"Oh." Søren's heart clenched. If even she knew… "You know of-"  
"Yeah, isn't it cute how both of these tall gloomy men love bunnies?!"  
"B-bunnies?"  
"Didn't you know?"  
"Yes, of course I knew!" Søren laughed nervously. He knew that much of Edvard. But that Sigurd liked bunnies? Good to know.  
"Anyways. When are you coming back? I miss you, you know?"  
"You do? I thought you never wanted to see me again."  
"Because you were such an asshole. You weren't you anymore. But the real Søren I'd always take back."  
"You would…?" Søren knew he shouldn't continue this way. He should be making a clean cut.  
"Of course."  
"Why didn't you write me then? Or call?"  
"Because I wanted to see whether or not you'd fight for us. And you needed to get better first."  
"Well, Laura… I need to tell you that… I… I don't think I can do this."  
"Søren. If you hesitate, it only means you have gotten over being a dick. Don't put too much pressure on yourself now."  
"Laura, listen. I-" He couldn't say he didn't love her anymore. He still did. But he loved Sigurd more. "I can't come back to you."  
"Why not?"  
Søren closed his eyes. He took a deep breath.  
"I fell in love with Sigurd."  
"Oh."  
Silence. Søren ran with his fingers through his hair, gripped on it and bit his lip.  
"I am so sorry I have to tell you this over the phone."  
Silence.  
"That's why Edvard was so strange," Laura said eventually.  
"Yeah. He knows."  
"How long do you already love Sigurd?"  
"I don't know. Weeks, Months."  
"Why do you tell me now?"  
"Because I am a coward. And we only got together yesterday night."  
"Ah."  
"I am so sorry Laura. I still lo-"  
"Shut up. I don't want any pity from you, who kept me hanging like this for months even though you already loved someone else."  
"Laura, please. I didn't know you'd-"  
"That I would still take you back? That I still love you?" Her voice broke and Søren's heart upon hearing her held back sob. "I thought Edvard told you?! I told him he should make sure you'd know!"  
"I am sorry."  
"Spare your apologies. I'm done with you."  
 _Toot,toot,toot-_  
Søren slowly lowered his phone and placed it on the table. It was probably a good thing he was far, far away from Edvard now. He wrapped the blanket tighter around his body and let himself go. In this moment he was glad he was far away from everybody.

After another hour Berwald, Hannah and her father entered the cabin, which truthfully was more of a house for camps. Søren agreed on playing some of the old games that were stored in the single bookshelf in the living room with Hannah.  
Both jumped up when they heard one of the horses whinnying to greet the approaching herd after three hours of board games. Hannah winced and sat back down with a sour face. Her ankle was indeed sprained and in bandages. But nothing held back Søren and so he jogged outside to greet the group and help where he could.

Sigurd was the last to descend from his horse as from his heightened position he could oversee the guests easier whether or not they managed to get back to earth safely and kept the horses in check. When the last rider was opening the saddle girth he himself slid down onto earth. He winced at his sore muscles but firstly made sure that his horse was freed from the saddle before leading it to the pen where a big stack of hay was lying ready to be devoured.

After that he stood at the gate and each guest handed him their horse and he quickly made sure that nothing was amiss before releasing it. In between he saw Søren helping to store away the saddles, answering questions and helping where he could. He felt his heart swell and a smile crept on his lips when he felt the warmth of yesterday night again on his body. When George entered the house as the last guest Søren pulled Sigurd in a hug, kissed his lips, then his cheek and asked how he was.

"Fine. Exhausted." Although everything seemed to be lighter already. And warmer. His cheeks felt warm again for the first time in hours.  
"Your job is done for today. I'll take care of the guests now," Søren said and Sigurd could swear some worry lingered in there as well.  
"Take care of me as well later?" Sigurd said and he knew immediately that Søren's thoughts were not of the pure and platonic kind. But when his gaze focused again after a second he nodded with such a soft smile, Sigurd could practically melt into it.  
"You'll get the full luxury program. Hot cocoa, massage, I'll even get you food to our room if you want to skip dinner with our loud guests."  
"That sounds perfect," Sigurd mused and slowly let go. Their hands intertwined for the short walk to the house in which it already smelled deliciously of the chilli con carne Berwald had prepared.

Sigurd struggled to stay awake during his wait for Søren who had hastily organised a games evening for the guests. He could feel his toes again after the hot shower, his stomach was calmed down after Søren had brought him a huge serving of dinner and being lulled in his bed it was hard to stay focused on the book he had brought with him.  
Not only that, but worry had instilled itself inside his body as he'd had eight hours to run through all the problems he would encounter having Søren as his boyfriend. Not that he would have been worried before.

He was torn out of his thoughts when the door opened with a creak and Søren entered with a tray in hand. Sigurd sat up and shuffled to the side so Søren could sit beside him. The tray landed on the nightstand. A kiss, two tired sighs and two pair of hands held their cups of hot cocoa.  
Sigurd told him about the tour. That Søren would get to see the mountain they visited another time. Søren told him about his game night. How Hannah was already feeling much better. Both cups were on the tray again, the cookies eaten. Sigurd felt warm in Søren's arms as he was lying beside him, his head resting on his upper arm. His right arm was slung over Søren's waist.

"What's on your mind?" Søren asked suddenly after some comfortable silence in which he had almost expected Sigurd to fall asleep. Their position reminded him much of the morning in the hotel in Bergen. But this time it wouldn't be awkward at all waking up like this and the thought made his lips automatically tug upwards.  
"What do you mean?" Sigurd asked and furrowed his brows. More than he already did every minute or so. Just for some seconds, then he would relax again.  
"There! You did it again. Frowning. And after a second, it's gone again."  
"Oh. You noticed?"  
"Your face is literally thirty centimetres away from mine, of course I notice."  
"Fair point. Even you would notice then."  
"Hey…"  
Sigurd chuckled which turned quickly in a sigh and he turned around to lie on his back instead and look up at the barely lit ceiling.  
"Will you tell me?"  
"Are you a very sexual person?"

Søren's eyes darted around, he automatically licked his lips and he blushed. Immediately his mind jumped to a dozen dirty images, sexual encounters, adventures and the romantic sensual nights with Laura.  
"I guess?" he began slowly, cautiously. "Why?"  
"When I told you "Take care of me" you didn't only think of feeding me with dinner."  
"Uhm." Søren's blush deepened and he cursed his mind of being so imaginative.  
"I am afraid of not being able to give you what you might want."  
"Oh." Søren looked down on their pillow.

He hadn't even thought about it. Well, he had thought about how Sigurd's body would feel like, how they'd fit together. Heck, how he'd sound and what he might want. Now he felt ashamed of it. He looked back at the handsome face, lifted himself more up so he made Sigurd look at him again. "I don't care. I wait."  
"What if I can't at all?" Sigurd's face was made of stone but Søren had learned to look past that, to see the anxiety, the dread. "I should have warned you before we got together."  
"You did already," Søren said softly and ran a hand through that silky hair of Sigurd. "You told me your story. Of course, I'll accept whatever you want to do and won't do with your body."  
"But you have needs-"  
"Which come second. I love you, Sigurd. You are more important to me than sex." The second the words left his mouth, Søren knew he'd make it possible, that he'd spoken the truth even if it may become difficult. Sigurd's expression was unreadable but Søren understood he said something right when he was pulled into a kiss.


	11. Return

"Calm. Breathe. Legs." Sigurd's voice filled the riding hall and Søren acted as he was told to. Dana puffed, her hind legs pushed and both went flying over the giant oxer.  
"Breathe." Dana galloped a stride, head high and taxing the next jump and already they sailed over the vertical with yellow stripes. A sharp turn.  
"Safety seat," Sigurd reminded Søren which made him recline ever so slightly, gave him the feeling of security and Dana stretched and lifted off the ground on a longer distance than optimal, but Søren remained cool and upon her front legs touching the ground his face split into a huge grin. He slowed her down, gave her the reins and clapped her.

"Good girl!"  
"Good job," Sigurd said, hands in his coat pockets and slowly approaching Søren.  
"Thanks!" Søren smiled at his boyfriend and let Dana walk to keep her muscles moving. Her breath formed small clouds and some steam rose from her body. It really was cold.  
"What do you think about showing next weekend?"  
"Where? How?" Søren's eyes widened and he felt his just calmed down heart speed up again.  
"Not a competition, but Christmas show. Hákon and I will perform at the equestrian centre two hours from here. They've got a local competition and I think the youngsters would love to watch a professional jump a course of around 1,50 when they wait for the results to come in."  
"I don't know Sigurd…"  
"It would be a good opportunity to test if you can jump again in a stressful situation but without the pressure of being fast. That way you can take it safe and slow."  
Søren made a face but upon looking at the course he just completed without a problem he felt his gut relaxing a bit again.  
"Alright."

And here he was. One and a half weeks later, breathing in, breathing out, looking out for Sigurd, biting his lower lip and focusing back on his breathing exercise. The "barn" was not at all as small as Sigurd had made it out to be. A riding hall, a jumping arena and a smaller one for dressage. Two stables and meadows for the horses as far as the eye could see. There would be two hundred people watching. Or more. But he could do this.

He had warmed up Dana, his calmest horse, and himself and was only waiting for his cue. And there, finally, was Sigurd. He waved at Søren to come. Silently they walked to the riding hall's entrance. For once this barn was not all red but painted in blues and the natural brown of the wood. The large double door was still closed.

Sigurd looked up at Søren, one hand on his leg.  
"Remember to breathe."  
"I will."  
"I'll be there with you."  
"I know."  
"You can do this."  
"I hope so."  
He felt Sigurd's fingers flick against his thigh.  
"I can do it," he corrected himself and smiled down at Sigurd.  
"Come here," Sigurd tip toed, Søren leaned down and stole a kiss from those sweet chapped lips.  
"It's gonna be fun."

The doors opened and Sigurd strode in, followed by Søren and a stomping Dana. Her black ears rotated, her head lifted to analyse the new place she entered. The spectators all lined up at the side fence, cups of warm tea and coffee in hands. It smelled of sand, leather and aromatic Glögg. Low murmuring went through the people but almost everybody shut up when Sigurd strode in front of the spectators, raising his hands.  
"The horse and rider may be professionals but we'd like to ask you for silence for this small performance, please."

Søren tried to ignore all the eyes staring at him as he showed Dana the surroundings, whilst having her focused on his signals still. Søren himself had to focus on Dana, himself, the course, his breathing, his body. He started to sweat, his guts seemed to churn around and his heart just wouldn't calm down. Sigurd strode back to the middle of the place. They locked eyes, Sigurd nodded reassuringly and some pop song started blaring out of the speakers. The sound of It made Søren calm again. He didn't hear the people anymore, it was one of his favourite motivational pieces and he had trained with that music before. Sigurd was there. He could do this.

Dana galloped on her right hand, having a good rhythm with which Søren knew he had control and she'd still pull towards the jumps and carry him over them. The first obstacle came into sight. It was a bit smaller on purpose. Only 1,40… Søren counted down the strides, 3, he reclined ever so slightly, 2, he reassured Dana with his legs, 1, he breathed, and they flew. His eyes immediately focused on the next obstacle. An oxer, already higher. Dana whipped her tail around, got a bit too excited and Søren hummed lowly with his voice, nudged her with his reins, she found the perfect stride and off they went again.

Søren was back in his element. It felt right, it felt good and he couldn't help grinning, even when Dana made an excited buck in between. Even when the jumps reached now the height and width he was normally used to on competitions. And sooner than he'd had thought possible it was over. Applause roared in his ear and he let Dana speed up some and did his own, personal victory lap.

He wasn't alone anymore when he went outside. Hákon was already out, warming up the horses with which he and Sigurd would show some liberty tricks with after the declaration of the winners. Sigurd walked along his side looking up at him with pride swelling up his chest and brightening up his eyes.  
"You did very good."  
"I am so glad its over but now I want more," Søren grinned.  
"That's even better," Sigurd nodded and when they reached the gate to the arena where Søren would cool down Dana he picked up her blanket and threw it over her back, his hand brushing against Søren's leg and he looked up at the Dane with dark eyes that made his butterflies melt inside. Then the moment passed and Sigurd briskly turned around to take over his horse from Hákon.

Søren talked with some excited girls at the fence about his experience, answered questions about his career, handling horses and competitions when he picked out Sigurd approaching again with his horse in tow, Hákon almost stumbling to try to keep up with Sigurd's quick pace, gesticulating. Søren just wanted to ask whether the performance went well, when he unconsciously made Dana step back and his blood drained from his face. Sigurd was fuming with fury. Even the girls retreated, whispering and hushing to each other.

"I need your horse," Sigurd demanded.  
"What?" Søren jumped off Dana and closed the distance to the brothers. "What has happened?"  
"Apparently, I don't know how to ride, my horses are just brainwashed and I am just a wannabe rider who is too 'soft'," he snarled. Søren had a feeling that soft had a different meaning than he was supposed to think. A cold breeze ran through their clothes and hair, but Sigurd didn't seem to bother, despite only wearing his thin show outfit.  
"And you just give in?" Søren asked and looked surprised at Hákon.  
"It's an old-" he tried to explain but was interrupted by Sigurd.  
"He is a friend of our family."  
"But not of you?"

Sigurd shook his head as he made quick work of Søren's helmet. Søren held still and let Sigurd take it. Better not stand in the way of a fuming Norwegian who can crush a soul by a mere glare.  
"He helped place me in the stable in Netherlands." Sigurd walked around and mounted Dana. "Old school. Horses need pain to understand. And so do gay people." As soon as he picked up the reins his whole demeanour changed. He was again relaxed, focused and made sure Dana was focused as he made her work again. Since she was a horse who was used to qualifiers and finals both in the same hour she had no problem finding her excitement again.  
Søren who found himself robbed of his horse and helmet looked at Hákon for help.  
"Come, I'll explain." He turned around and led his horse towards their trailer.

"His name is Thormund. We didn't know he has returned. He lived in the Emirates for some years. Trading with horses, advising people on the market and so on. But apparently he decided to live here again."  
"Which is problematic."  
"Indeed. He is one of the reasons Sigurd never came out to our family. Whenever he raged about the advancement of the legalisation of gay marriage back then, our parents agreed, probably to stay on his good side. Or because they thought the same. We still don't know. As Thormund had some knowhow about horses he also accompanied Sigurd and his parents to competitions. He always belittled him and when Sigurd refused to punish his horse with the whip for refusing a fence or being afraid, Thormund did it for him. I was lucky enough that he didn't even bother to 'help' me with my puny Icelandic horse."  
Søren was speechless. They loaded the horses into the trailer.

As they walked back Søren could make out Sigurd who galloped with Dana and popped a small jump to get used to her movements.  
"I am so sorry," was the only thing Søren managed to mutter.  
"It didn't really bother Sigurd at that time beside of the beating of his horse. If he'd had a boyfriend back then and would be a weaker person, it would have been a real problem."  
"But now he's back, has seen us kiss as we did it around fifty times here already and probably heard the story from your parents…" Søren waved in front of him in circles. Hákon understood. "Exactly. He insulted Sigurd in a way that no one would understand the real meaning in 'soft'. They'd just think he meant Sigurd's riding skills, which he meant to target of course as well."  
"And now Sigurd wants to show him-"  
"-that he has grown to be an even better rider than Thormund could have ever made him be."

The riding hall was packed now. All of the young competitors were done with taking care of their horses. All of the prices were put into bags or cars. Everybody has had time to get something to drink and eat. The jumps were still at the same place as before but lowered a bit. Sigurd was good. But it had been quite a while since he had jumped 1,60. As with Søren the first jump was the lowest, but this time 1,30. Although it still gradually mounted until the last giant oxer. 1,60 high, 2 metres wide. As high and wide as it could get. Now it was Søren's turn to stand at Sigurd's side. He looked up at him.  
"You can do this."  
"I can do this," Sigurd muttered, determination set deep into his eyes.  
"You know Dana likes –"  
"-to have reins given to her over the jump. She's got an excellent balance."  
"And don't nudge her with the legs when she-"  
"-bucks. Only a bit with the reins."  
Søren laughed. "I don't think I need to worry."  
Sigurd mustered a little smile when he saw that carefree face.  
"Come here." Søren smirked, tip toed and Sigurd leaned down to steal a kiss. A kiss deeper and rougher than the one they had not even an hour before. The doors swung open once more, Søren strode inside, Sigurd followed, licking his lips and setting eyes on the man in his sixties, greying red hair, a sharp chin and a cold sneer on his face, just as Hákon had described him.

Søren watched in awe. And so did the others. Sigurd was beautiful in his green vest, his slender legs, his elegant hold on the reins, the barely visible communication between him and Dana. They never seemed to take foot on the earth, only flying. Søren already knew that Dana was an elegant horse, envied by many, her videos and pictures coursing around social media, often used in video edits. But together with Sigurd they truly seemed out of a fairy tale. Her black fur contrasting perfectly fair Sigurd. When they completed the course applause roared once again, Dana did her obligatory buck and Sigurd looked at the spectators when he rounded his small victory lap. But Thormund had disappeared in the crowd.  
Søren clapped along, almost jumping to Sigurd's side. "You should have seen his face!" He laughed. "As if he had to poop whilst eating a lemon." His expression softened, but his eyes sparkled still with glee. "You were fantastic."  
"Felt good jumping like this again," Sigurd hummed and held Søren's hand as they walked to let Dana cool down, for good today.


	12. Affect

Christmas came and went. For the first time in months Søren left the barn for more than just a weekend to spend the holidays and new year with his family in Denmark. He got to see Edvard again too. He got a punch in his gut for making Laura cry, but Edvard told him that she was already much better and talked about him in more positive tones again. He asked what Søren's plans were for the competitions. Søren couldn't answer, only muttered about the Oslo International Horse Show which he might take part in.

The evening Søren returned to the farm he was welcomed with Christmas gifts, an honorary new Years dinner and a thoughtful Sigurd. When Hákon finally left the living room Søren and Sigurd made themselves comfortable on the couch, took out some drinks and enjoyed the silence together, as well as some kisses. When Sigurd poured himself another glass of vodka he leaned back and watched Søren again with a thoughtful expression, although with slightly reddened cheeks now.

"How'd you imagine sex with me?"  
Søren almost choked on his drink and immediately his cheeks flushed of embarrassment to reacting like some innocent school boy. He straightened himself, mimicked Sigurd and reclined on the couch. He didn't take long to answer. He had passed enough time thinking over it to answer truthfully without stammering too much.

"Not really sex," Søren mused and grinned. "We'd make love."  
Sigurd almost rolled with his eyes, if the answer wouldn't have been too perfect. But not complete yet. He remained silent and Søren took this as a signal to continue.  
"I mean, we'd explore each other, getting to know what the other likes, and what not." Søren lowered his eyes. He didn't want to make things awkward or mentioning a certain event if he didn't have to. But he couldn't deny that since he knew what had happened, his views on their sex life had changed.  
"I'll bottom. At least for our first time. I'm more of a switcher anyways…" or so he had always imagined himself. "And first we'll take it slow and then… we'll see."

He smirked lopsided but his heart beat loud in his chest. If only he didn't mess this up. Sigurd studied him and during Søren's elaboration his shoulders relaxed, the grip on his glass wasn't as tight anymore.  
"Sounds romantic," Sigurd commented eventually and put his glass back on the table. "But in a good way."

"How did you imagine it?" Søren asked when Sigurd didn't continue.  
"I didn't think much on how we'd do it in detail," Sigurd said, his eyes on guard and licking his lips. "More in sentiments. What I'd like to do with you once we'd already be used to each other but I usually stopped before I could circle into the negative and the anxiety."  
"What would you like to do to me once we're used to each other?"  
Sigurd's eyes became the same dark shade of blue as they did when he had looked at him back at the Christmas Show when they both left the place triumphantly.

"I'd much rather show than tell as I can't describe it very well but," Sigurd mimicked now Søren's smirk, "I'd love to have it both harsh and sweet. I want to make love but on occasions I want us both in a tangled mess, begging, biting, hard and fast. And like you, I am a switcher as well in my imagination so I would someday be open for experiments."  
"Fuck…" Søren mouthed, cheeks flushed and his mind battling to not be too imaginative right now in this situation. A spark ignited in his head and he looked at Sigurd with glinting eyes. "So you'd think we could try it out one time?"

The Norwegian pulled himself up, took their glasses and kissed Søren much too quick for the other's liking.  
"Some time, yes."  
And he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Søren to place the flasks and bottles back on their rack where they belonged together with the Jägermeister, Whiskey and Aquavit.

* * *

Søren was in a glum mood. Everything was perfect. He found a new family, he was back on track with the show jumping, he enjoyed the hard work but also the relaxation he could find out here on the farm in the mountains. He had a wonderful, sexy, funny, stunning, caring and talented boyfriend.  
But he knew there had to be an end to it all. If he wanted to fulfill his dream he needed to head back to a bigger stable. He had to start on the big competitions again, without first driving 5 hours to the next airport. He couldn't do that alone. He needed a groom, his coach. People who weren't already busy running a farm. He had to move back to the Netherlands where they still waited for him.

But could he hurt himself so much to leave this place? To leave Sigurd? Søren grimaced and slowly sat back up from his bed. He still slept in his guest room, as if everybody knew he wouldn't be able to stay, that no matter how much he loved all of this and the people, he'd remain a guest of this place. His feet touched the floor where the rug managed to keep his feet temporarily warm. With two lazy steps he was at the desk and turned on his laptop. He flipped the light switch, he logged on.

It was two in the morning but to hell with his sleep. Better he did all of this as long as his sleepy mind was not processing it, as long as his anxiety and dread couldn't hold him back. Sigurd would understand. As much as Søren knew about Sigurd's difficult and traumatic relation to sex and relationships, Sigurd knew about his dream and what he had to do to fulfill it.

* * *

"You what?" Sigurd asked, the surprise and unbelieving slicing through Søren's heart.  
"I'll leave in two weeks."  
"Without telling me first?" Sigurd's face was too open, showed too much emotion. Søren wanted to look away, but he needed to be honest. They stood in front of the pasture where Søren's horses were playing in the snow. They surely would be missing the white cold when they'd return to the Netherlands and be greeted by mud and even more mud.

"I'm telling you now."  
"That's not what I mean," Sigurd bit back and Søren was once again reminded, that this man was able to let someone crumble with a single glare.  
"I decided two days ago. It was two in the morning and I needed the confirmation first."  
"Without discussing it first with me?"  
"If I had talked with you about it, I would never have been able to say no to this…" He gestured vaguely at all of the farm. "I would have promised you to stay."  
"I would have not accepted the promise, you know that Søren." Sigurd groaned and crossed his arms. "I know about your dream. I know you need to leave."  
"Then why are you angry at me?!" Søren didn't want to raise his voice. He wasn't even angry at Sigurd he realised in the exact moment.

"Because you decided it behind my back." Sigurd glowered at him. "You're back being a coward."  
"Because of this reaction!" Søren threw his hands in the air. "Because-"  
"I wouldn't have reacted this way if you had discussed it with me in the first place. You're afraid of yourself."  
"Well what should I have done?" Søren turned around and paced up and down in front of his boyfriend. "If I had discussed it with you I'd have backed down. When I decide it like this you're angry."  
"So you think I'd selfishly persuade you to stay here?! To bury your dreams for me?!"  
"No…" Søren stood still.

It was not often that Sigurd raised his voice and if he did, only when he was slipping out of his firm selfcontrol or when it was necessary. "But-"  
"Grow a spine, Søren. You were afraid of your priorities. Just admit it."  
"I'm not, it's my dream!"  
"Then you could have said no to-" Sigurd mimicked Søren and waved at the barn. "-all of this whilst looking me in the eye."  
"I-" Søren started but faltered. His shoulders slumped down, his head hang low and all his energy seemed to have leaked out. "Sorry."  
"Thank you," Sigurd said eventually and ran his hand across his face. "We'll discuss it after dinner, I have to give a lesson now."  
"Alright," Søren said and he watched Sigurd walk to his car and he knew from the way Sigurd walked, talk they would, after he had a break to calm down. To think.

* * *

Dinner was tense to say the least. It would have brightened the mood if some guests had been there. But there were none. Just the family. Hákon sent a questioning, reproachful glance but didn't say anything. Berwald and Tino kept to themselves and Peter, only talking to the others when necessary. Søren was glad that it was over quickly and everybody left the table, except for Sigurd and himself.

He looked down at his cup of tea that Berwald had prepared and set in front of him with a murmured 'Good luck'. Sigurd was denied coffee as Berwald probably figured, that he didn't need to be riled up even more. He would have never dared denying it openly however, so he had set in front of him the same tea as for Søren and left before he could protest.

"What made you decide to leave?" Sigurd began when he heard Berwald closing the front door behind him with a soft clack. Søren shrugged.  
"I was lying awake in bed and decided to use my grogginess to just get it over with."  
"I'm taking it as a compliment," Sigurd said dryly.  
"Sigurd," Søren said softly and he wished he could take his hand or caress his shoulder but he didn't want to calm him down with touching but get it sorted out like adults. "Of course I wouldn't want to leave. But I have no choice."

Sigurd's lip twitched in annoyance, the rest of his face remained cold. "I know. The location and facilities are not good enough."  
"Good enough, but not if I need the competitions or at least an airport in a reasonable distance. And I need a groom who helps transporting the horses and taking care of them during competitions. I need a coach who travels with me."  
"I know," Sigurd said in the same voice that didn't let on whether he was sarcastic or not.  
"I can't ask that from you. Your place is here. Your heart lays here. You built all of this. Here is your family." Søren inched closer to Sigurd. As much as the show of so much emotion of Sigurd from those inevitable facts hit him before, the lack of it now made it only worse.

"I know."  
"I am sorry I didn't talk about it sooner with you."  
"You already said sorry, it's alright."  
"What should I do then?" Søren asked desperately almost and his eyes searched for the answer in Sigurd's own.  
"I don't know. I don't want you to leave," Sigurd finally admitted and looked down. There was a hand on Søren's thigh and Sigurd knew in the way it was placed that Søren wanted to hold his. Slowly he reached out for it and as he felt the warmth of the other on his palm ad tips of his fingers he knew his defences crumbled down.

"I don't want you to return to that place, to those people, to that other coach."  
"Not all of them are bad…"  
"The environment and pressure made you to that dick you were at the beginning and your coach is probably the worst."  
"I am not the same anymore. I have learnt my lesson. I can see the faults of them now and still appreciate their good sides."

Sigurd looked at his boyfriend, at those gentle and still excitable eyes which tried so hard to reassure him. To the corners of his mouth where dimples appeared every time he smiled, which was luckily often. He missed the freckles which had faded during winter, but the hair which alike had turned a shade darker let Søren appear more serious. As he was now. Sigurd sighed. He trusted Søren and probably had still more confidence in his abilities than Søren had himself.

"I'll come and visit you as often as I can. I still have a lot to learn from you," Søren tired to reassure him even more, though Sigurd was already convinced.  
"You better. And if you wish to still learn from me, I suggest you teach me some of your show jumping magic from now on."  
"You really want to?" Søren asked excitedly, his face lightened up, which quickly transformed into a smirk. "Heh. How the tables have turned."  
Sigurd rolled his eyes. "I'm still the mountain wizard. You'll just teach a weird old man some of the tricks from the normal folks."  
"I'm older than you, you know that," Søren said, pushing his lower lip forward.  
"If it doesn't show, it doesn't count."  
"Was I the only one singing drunkenly along to Barbie Girl?"  
"That doesn't count. We were drunk."  
"What about the time you cooed over the stuffed bunny I got you for Christmas?"  
"Bunnies don't count." Sigurd crossed his arms.  
"Okay, and what about the time-"  
"Alright, I get it," Sigurd interrupted him and rolled his eyes before he opened his arms again. "Then let's use the last two weeks to the fullest."

* * *

Søren realised he hadn't been thankful enough for training at the same stable as Edvard did. But having his own small welcoming committee gave him a warm feeling in his gut for the first time in hours. Since he had left the embrace of Sigurd and entered the security check everything seemed to be colder, greyer.

As predicted he had left the white winter wonderland with his very own ice palace for a muddy February Netherlands. The trees were naked and swayed in the wet wind. During the drive they had been talking about the news, the plans. With a warning voice Edvard told him that the German national team was visiting them for an important clinic and competition event in the very near future. Søren told him how he had already booked the tickets back to Norway for March.

But the excitement had left both men soon enough and when they got out of the car in front of the living quarters Edvard's mood seemed to have toppled down to a minus ten degrees. He turned around to Søren.  
"Ready for him?"  
"Him?" Søren asked and looked around and back to Edvard.

Everything seemed to be normal, as he had left it before Summer. The same beige concrete living quarters, the white painted fences, the three outdoor arenas, now full of puddles, the small muddy paddocks where some horses looked fruitlessly for food, the two brown stable blocks, the riding halls. Nothing seemed to have changed.

"Don't you know already?" Edvard asked and if Søren hadn't known him so well, he would have missed the horrified tone.  
"Know what, Edvard?" He asked urgently annoyed and opened the trunk to get his suitcase out.  
"Don't you ever read the competition news and keep yourself updated what common folks like us do?"  
Søren placed all of his luggage on the ground. "Edvard, either you tell me, or-"

Two men approached them and only one Søren knew already. He was tall, blonde with his usual slicked back hair and shoulders like a bull. He made the biggest horses seem normal and the smallest look like ponies.  
"Ludwig!" Søren smiled and waved. The man waved back, as always stiff as a piece of wood. But Søren knew he only had to share some beer with this man and the night would be a fun one.

"Søren, long time no see," he said. "We missed you on competitions."  
"Yeah, but now I am back, just wait and see how I'll beat your time," Søren laughed and patted the shoulders he always kept comparing to Berwald's. His eyes fell on the other man. He had never seen him, so maybe he was a groom or a newbie who just made it into the team. He was strikingly handsome with dark brown hair, warm eyes and a smile that surely made women and men swoon who weren't already in happy relationships.

Søren felt more than saw how Edvard had stepped behind him and he wondered, why he kept his distance. Usually Edvard was on good terms with the blonde German. He would have to ask him later. Ludwig interrupted Søren's thinking as he waved at the other man.  
"This is our newest part of the team. Came over from the Eventing department."  
"Yeah," the man said and his voice was as warm and charming as his eyes. Søren already liked him. "Dressage didn't quite work out for me and I wanted to concentrate on only one discipline."  
Søren offered his hand and returned that smile.  
"Welcome! My name is Søren Hansen."  
"Pleased to meet you. My name's Alexander Jungknecht."

Søren's face slipped and his mind did a stunt to try and shift the whole appearance of the man in front of him. But the handsome smile only got an arrogant note and the eyes seemed more calculating. He remained good looking, he remained charming. Søren felt heat boiling from his gut up to his head. Edvard finally made sense. He clenched his hands to fists and grit his teeth stepping forward, but was held back by another hand on his upper arm.

"Don't." Edvard was at his side now, his green eyes spitting venom at Alexander who played confused. But the knowing glance from Edvard to Søren's fist and the quick squinting of his eyes had betrayed him.  
"Have I angered you somehow?" Alexander asked and looked at Ludwig for help who in turn looked genuinely concerned. Søren huffed in held down fury and his neck ached in tension.  
"Don't even-" Søren started but Edvard jumped to his help.  
"Allergic reaction. We'll get his medicine so he can breathe properly again." Edvard pulled on Søren's arm. "We'll see you tomorrow for the clinic."

Søren didn't get enough air indeed from his fury and he only managed a low groan before he was pulled away by Edvard.  
"Get well soon," he could hear Alexander call.  
"See you tomorrow," Ludwig simply said before he and Alexander made their way to the living quarters.  
Edvard grabbed the giant bag standing by the car and handed it to Søren. He himself took the suitcase and trudged towards their cafeteria instead of the concrete building in which the Germans had disappeared.  
"We'll talk there if you can avoid breaking down anything."  
Søren was silent and followed still stunned and fuming.

* * *

The cafeteria was the cosiest place on the whole ground. It was designed like a hybrid between bar, café and restaurant. A few people sat in the leather arm chairs which were either in the dimly lit corners or placed in front of the large glass panels showing the inside of one of the riding halls. Two of the grooms chatted over a soda at the bar, only enjoying a quick break before they had to continue to take care of the tack and stables.

Edvard made his way through the tables in the centre to the far-right corner of the room where no one sat and no one would be listening. He ordered Søren to sit and got them pints at the bar. By the time he had returned Søren's colour had drained from his face again but his eyes were still shooting daggers at his hands which he had firmly clasped together on his knees.

"Why didn't you tell me that… that…" Even now he struggled finding the fitting derogatory term for Alexander. "Arsehole was here? Even in the German team?!"  
Edvard sighed deeply, his glum expression matching Søren's furious one. "I don't want to bring him up in any convo. Especially not when he is successful. I thought you would have known by reading the news or talking with Ludwig or Gilbert."  
"Must have missed it." Søren said. "And they didn't tell me. Their team is so big and well organised, its nothing big when someone new gets to our level." The last words tasted bitter on his tongue.  
"True," Edvard sighed and took a deep swig of the cool beer.  
"So Sigurd doesn't know?" Søren asked, still not relaxing his hands.  
"That was my next question for you."  
"Should we tell him?"  
"And stir up resentment and bitterness?" Edvard shook his head, but Søren's chest felt heavy. The last time he happened to not tell Sigurd something important it didn't go well for him.

"Why didn't you let me punch that dick face?" Søren growled.  
"Because Ludwig was there. He doesn't know what Alexander had done. If you'd have punched him Alexander could have just played innocent and you'd go to jail if he decided to call the police."  
"But he'd be stupid to do that, he really did-"  
"I know," Edvard interrupted Søren abruptly. "I was there to help Sigurd. Trust me, I _know_ it happened." He fixed his stern eyes on Søren's. "But no one else does. Sigurd's therapist died two years ago. She was the only other person who the police could have trusted to speak the truth."  
"Maybe the hospital where he was…"  
"He was at no hospital."  
"So we just… let that prick prance around?"  
"You think I like any of that?" Edvard hissed. "Sigurd should be at his place," he spat. "He should be walking around here for the clinic and competition."

Søren groaned and buried his face in his palms. There had to be some way to bring justice to it all but unless Søren wanted to lose his place here or even worse land in front of a court he had to remain silent.

"Drink up. You should see to your horses before you go to sleep." Edvard eventually said into the brooding silence between them, underlined with the jazzy music playing from the speakers. The cold liquid managed to clear his head a bit. Sitting here and damning god, the other gods, Karma and fate wouldn't help him. He needed to get stuff done, and if it was to just remain better than Alexander ever could be.

* * *

"Eliza! Sadik!" Søren called and waved. Those two at least managed to cheer him up. He watched them jog towards him and he opened his arms first for Eliza who was a second faster. "How are you?"

She hugged him with the force of a bear, but that was no wonder since she trained nonstop. Working in the stables as a groom, training her own two horses for trick riding and hitting the gym for Kickboxing classes.  
"Great!" Søren didn't let go of her completely but held her at her shoulders from him. He grinned lopsided.  
"I owe you an apology for ever making fun of you for that trick riding."  
"Oh! But you already apologised?" She asked confusedly but smiled back.  
"Only because you punched me. Hard. I didn't really mean it back then. But now I do."  
"You dick!" she exclaimed but laughed. "What made you change your mind?"  
"A mountain wizard deep inside a forest." Søren whispered before he turned towards Sadik who had waited more or less patiently.

He raised his hand, they clasped their hands together and pulled each other into a half hug, patting their backs.  
"How've you been?"  
"Miserable with no one getting that Crazyhead off my back." Søren chuckled and looked at those two. They were like cat and dog. Always bickering, sometimes fighting, sometimes brawling. But they still somehow got along. "And Edvard's won another International four star. I gotta step my game up and win my next competition." And there was Sadik's dilemma of having so few competitions to choose from as an endurance rider. He was an exotic at the stable, not only because of his Turkish parentage but also because of his discipline.

"I missed your rivalry," Søren sighed contently and waved at them to follow. "I've got some drinks from the duty free. Edvard's going to join as well."  
"I'm in." Eliza said and already walked into the entrance hall and up the stairs. Sadik shrugged. "If you've got some tea or coffee for me?"  
"Always do for you." Sadik followed Søren up to his small apartment and soon enough Edvard joined. The evening was spent catching up, laughing, hitting each other and eating the Swiss chocolate Søren got his hands on at the airport.


	13. First Confrontation

TRIGGER WARNING!

Talk about rape, slight violence. Please be mindful if it could be bad for your mental health!

* * *

Søren was warming up his horse in the riding hall the next morning when Gilbert manoeuvred his mare at his side. Søren looked up and managed a pained smile. He must have heard what had happened from his brother Ludwig. Those unsettling red eyes lingered with concern. Under his black helmet streaks of his albino white hair stuck out and matched the coat of his horse.

"Feeling better?" Gilbert asked, a hint of curiosity lingering in his voice. "Ludwig told me you had an allergic reaction." His voice was as scratchy as it was loud and he was one of the people who couldn't whisper for their lives.  
"Yeah. Well, kind of."  
"You left quite the impression on Alexander. He kept inquiring me and Ludwig on who you are."  
"He did?" Søren pressed out between gritted teeth.  
"Yes. He was very interested in your time out and what you did then."  
Søren frowned, his stomach clenching and his hands grew hard on the reins. Realising that he hastily relaxed again to not bother Finnigan, his horse. He looked at Gilbert and urged Finnigan to keep up with the large strides of the other horse.

"What did you tell him?"  
"Ludwig and I told him that you went to some sort of coach for traumatic riding experiences. Outside of the country."  
"Not more?" Søren asked surprised. Ludwig was such an honest and just person, he had a hard time believing he would lie to anyone about anything. And Gilbert must have sensed something was amiss, as soon as he heard about the allergic reaction. As an albino he had a way of connecting with other people on their asthma and allergies, using the hardships and annoyances to complain over. And that way he had the perfect overview on who of the elite riders suffered under what.  
"No. It is your private life and it is not our place to tell him anything."  
"Wow. Thank you," Søren sighed and smiled thankful at the large man. "I really don't feel comfortable around Alexander."  
"Why? He is a great and fun guy, you know?"  
"He is." Søren's mouth was in a thin line again.  
"If you'd get to know him before judging his Casanova aura you'd like him too."  
"No," Søren said a bit too loud.  
"So you know him already?"  
"We've never met but I've heard stories…"

Søren looked aside. Gilbert was his friend. Not as close as Edvard maybe but he had earned his trust. To hear him speak so positive about the monster was nothing else than disturbing.  
"What st- oh." Gilbert sighed deeply and shook his head. "That story. That he harassed a boy?"  
"Harassed...?" Søren breathed out and looked at Gilbert with unbelieving eyes. Only harassed…  
"Listen, there were never any charges. That boy was reclusive, a loner, or so they told me. Alexander was in a new relationship with his groom when that boy left all that graffiti and accusations. He never returned to explain, he didn't even call the police or anything. Got his horse and vanished." He raised his hand in a fist and opened it again, mimicking smoke coming from a magic trick.

Søren was silent and it was so hard concentrating on both Gilbert's words and his breathing exercise to keep his fury down.  
"Alexander told me that boy was just crushing badly on him. I asked him too, you know? He was always trying to spend time with him and Alexander felt bad for him so he was nice to the guy. Must have backfired when the boy found out he got into a relationship."  
"That is one side of the story."  
"As long as we don't know the other he is innocent. He couldn't hurt a fly. He's just damn good at flirting." Gilbert chuckled. "Having him as your wing man is the best decision you can make for a night out."  
"I need to warm up Finnigan," Søren gritted out through his teeth and made his horse trot away from his friend.

That is not how he had imagined his first training session back here. Instead of showing how much better he had gotten and enjoying the company of his friends, he was trying hard to not lose his concentration over the unfairness of the world. Yet again. That Alexander entered the arena did not help in the slightest.

* * *

The first jump was always the hardest. Multiply by two with spectators, multiply by three for a new location, multiply by a thousand for a after traumatic experiences at the same place. Images of past failures flashed before his eyes. How he didn't manage to jump anything reasonable anymore after the accident. The annoyed and impatient voice of his coach ringed in his head, the blue marks seemed to have reappeared on his body.

But Søren had learnt. He had gotten better. With every stride of Finnigan he let one image, one sound after another go. He was calm. Finnigan was excited. No. Finnigan was tense because of him.  
"Easy boy," he said in a soft voice, directed him towards the obstacle and nudged him with his legs. Three, two, one, and Søren had managed the most difficult jump. He grinned, clapped his horse and let the next rider follow.

The instructor for the clinic was a nice Brazilian woman in a flowery blouse, beige breeches and long black hair tied up in a pony tail. Her dark skin shined golden in the riding hall's light and she had a warm smile. After she had watched the riders warm up and jump the single obstacle repeatedly she summoned everybody in a lose circle around her.  
"You all are show jumpers and no one is going to argue that you aren't good. You all know that dressage is your foundation and jumping an obstacle is basically just another stride of gallop, as your instructors and coaches have that probably beaten into your heads by now. Just a bit more dangerous and complicated."

She walked around as she earned some chuckles. But she was more interested in looking at every pair and stopped in front of Søren eventually.  
"This man however has figured out something else he needs to look after as well tough."  
"Me?" Søren asked surprised and looked around the familiar faces who looked at him.  
"Something else aside from jumping and controlling every bit perfectly," the woman continued and looked at him expectantly.  
"Uhm," Søren began until he remembered he had to be better than Alexander. What did the woman not mention? "The horse?"  
The men and women in the circle laughed or chuckled but Edvard only smirked at his friend. The woman nodded proudly and when the riders calmed down again she continued.

"Almost every mistake a rider does is because he forgets his horse. He forgets the horse's needs for reassurance, signals, guidance or to take it down a notch with inputs to let it focus and concentrate on the jump." Now she got the full attention. "A good rider knows the theory. He knows how to control a horse, he can calculate in his head the remaining strides before the jump, he has perfect balance. But what separates a good rider from a great one is his capability to translate all this knowledge in how he communicates with the horse and in return listens to it."

Søren was surprised to find that he already knew all of this indeed. The accident had only happened because he forgot to listen and communicate with Elsinore as she would have needed it. Odin had stopped in front of those fences because Søren was so occupied with his demons that he sent the wrong signals. The signals of fright, anxiety and danger.  
"This man – What's your name?"  
"Søren Hansen."  
"Søren was tense as he rounded the corner." She pointed to her right. "His horse was therefore tense as well and too fast. Søren got rid of whatever made him that way and with a calming voice reassured his horse, gave it the signal that he really wanted to jump the obstacle with his legs and the horse was reassured and jumped it just fine." The woman turned away from Søren. "This clinic is going to be about some remembering of the basics of horsemanship and the psychology of horses." And she went on to explain what she expected them to do.

* * *

Søren did his best to ignore Alexander. He never brought him up in a conversation, he tried to spend as little time as possible together in the riding hall or the cafeteria but the day of the competition it was impossible. The clinic was officially over but the woman insisted on seeing the results first hand at the competition and everybody agreed on celebrating whoever won at a local restaurant, no matter for which nation they were riding.

Søren was glad that despite that they still travelled with their own teams. Which meant he had Eliza as his groom and shared the trailer with Edvard and another rider from the Netherlands. He didn't have to see Alexander's face, could ignore him at the warm up and just the announcement of his name and was focused on himself and Dana. He was intent on finishing a calm and proper round. He knew he needed the points to be qualified for the Olympics but it was his first competition in a year almost. He needed to success in not making any stupid mistakes. He wanted to make Sigurd and himself proud.

He was calm when he entered the arena. Everything was decorated with flowers, the jumps shone in the lights and the spectators were talking casually. Søren breathed in and out, assessed the arena, saw where the current rider would ride next and he went into the opposite direction to not disturb him. Dana's ears circled around, she huffed but she was fully listening to him. When it was Søren's turn he didn't hear the man at the microphone saying his name, telling everyone that this was his comeback, how nobody really knew where he had went and if maybe he'd disclose that information someday, that a lot was expected from him for the future if only his nerves would play along. But what did the man in his cabin and the mic in front of him know?

Søren was calm and focused and delivered a proper round, although on the verge of being too slow. But it was enough. Enough to smile, to jump off Dana and go around hugging everybody he knew once he exited the arena. Eliza, Edvard, Gilbert, Ludwig, that Brazilian Instructor. Eventually he stood in the middle of his friends and looked for someone special. His heart sank as he realised that Sigurd wasn't even here. The person who had earned his thanks the most wasn't there to receive it. As Eliza took over Dana to cool her down he stumbled and fumbled to retrieve his phone from his bag that she had placed on their reserved seats in the lounge.

"Sigurd!" he exclaimed when he heard rustling and the end of the tooting.  
"Søren, are you already at the competition?" the deep voice asked from two thousand kilometres afar.  
"Yes!"  
"So you're already through?"  
"Yes!"  
"And you were clear?"  
"Yes! I did it!"  
Søren knew Sigurd was smiling. "I'm so happy for you."  
"Thank you so much without you-"  
"Just enjoy your triumph you oaf," Sigurd cut him off. "You didn't fail, so no speculating about what ifs."  
"Aye Aye Sir."  
"Skype tonight?"  
Søren sighed but it didn't calm down his warm and fuzzy and energetic feeling in his chest. "We've got dinner with all the people from the clinic tonight."  
"Tomorrow then?"  
"Tomorrow it is," Søren said. "Love you."  
"Love you too. Now go and celebrate. You earned it."

* * *

It was Ludwig who won the class, which wasn't surprising as the current World Champion. So he sat at the head of the table, the Brazilian instructor to his left and his brother Gilbert to his right. Edvard was wise enough and rushed towards the table as one of the first ones and grabbed a chair at the other end of it. Far away from the Germans. Søren wasn't nearly as lucky or thoughtful. He entered together with Eliza and she was immediately waved over by Gilbert and his flirtatious smirk which hid his nervousness. And he followed her blindly out of habit.

As he grabbed the chair beside her his eyes fell on warm and brown ones in front of him, a chair to his left. He froze and backed up.  
"Can't sit here. Will join Ed-" he started but as he turned around to sit elsewhere he realised that everyone had already found a seat.  
"Søren, what is it?" Eliza asked with furrowed brows.  
"I can't sit here," he hissed.  
"Don't make a fuss now," Eliza said but she sounded concerned. "You'll survive a night without Edvard." She reached out and held him at his arm.  
"I…" Søren looked at the people at the table and he realised that everybody was looking at him. Swallowing the weak excuse, he sat down. "Alright."  
Alexander only smiled warmly which didn't reach his eyes and he turned his attention towards Ludwig and the Instructor. Søren turned his head to his right in protest and stroke up a conversation with the other Dutch rider. Eliza sent asking glances towards Gilbert who only shrugged in return.

"And then I hit-" Alexander said in his charming warm voice.  
Søren's head perked up and looked at Alexander in alarm.  
"the mark and.."  
Søren exhaled deeply and smiled apologizingly at his conversation partner. But mere minutes went by when Søren heard again how Alexander said:  
"Oh, yeah that boy was sweet but an annoyance I have to tell you."  
Søren again turned around and this time Alexander's eyes met his. "My cousin really doesn't know when to shut up some times."

Søren tried to shut out anything Alexander said from that point on. Which worked fine until dessert. The waitress noted down all the orders, turned around in a swirl and the conversations resumed. Søren's however began just a second too late and he heard Alexander begin a new story.  
"Speaking of exes, I once had a boy stalking me. I mean I was flattered and he was kind of cute with his blonde fringes and that shy blush if I had been gay but-"  
Søren balled his hand into a fist and forced a chuckle as a groom told how she once was bitten in her butt by a pony. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw how Alexander casually looked over at him. Expecting a reaction.

"-I knew we wouldn't work out and that he was a little strange. He was a loner and rather boring. I didn't say anything to our coach, that kid had some potential but eventually he learnt I was together with my groom back then." Alexander laughed and shook his head. "He was pretty pissed and plastered graffiti on the parking lot, the boxes of my horses and the door to my room. But I have to say he was very creative. Accused me of all sorts of things. And I'm not even a homosexual!"  
"No, really!" exclaimed the Brazilian. "I hope it didn't affect you?"  
"Oh no. He left the same night. Never saw him again. Had some bothersome talks with my coach about it and the sponsors were concerned but luckily everything calmed down."  
"Outrageous! Leaving like a coward after almost destroying someone's career." The woman shook her head.  
"He was young and had all sorts of problems probably. Good thing I wasn't really in a relationship with him. Imagine how that would have turned out if I had broken up with him."  
Søren suddenly stood up, pushing his chair backwards, interrupting the chatter of his neighbours.  
"Bathroom," he hissed as he turned around and stomped his way through the room, passing by guests and leaving some confused glances behind him.

* * *

Søren stood bent over the sink and splashed cold water in his face. He had to control his trembling hands, the urge to scream out the truth to the world or punch a bathroom stall door. Or hit a certain face with a bathroom stall door. Why did that man had to have the ability to charm people around him so easily? Hearing him being so successful and charming and seeing how good looking he was, Søren understood now why Edvard didn't want Sigurd involved anymore. And Søren understood how and why younger Sigurd fell for Alexander.

He just dried his face with the paper towels from the dispenser when he heard the door opening again. Sounds from people chattering and plates being stacked on each other grew louder. He threw the papers into the bin set in between the two sinks when his eyes turned towards the man in front of him. Brown eyes laughed at him and a cocky smile played around the lips Søren would have loved to see bloodied.  
"At first I wasn't sure. But now I know," Alexander said. The door behind him closed with a soft clack, shutting the noise from outside out. The sink dripped. "You are Sigurd's new friend? Following blindly his little tale?"

Søren's hand twitched, he stood taller. All of the warmth and care his friends loved about him left his body. His blue eyes were cold in anger.  
"His tale?" he asked.  
"Yeah, the one he tells everybody who wonders why he never made it to the top, you know? Not that it would be a lot of people. It was obvious he wasn't made for international standard. Nor did he have any friends." Søren stepped closer, and it was oh so satisfying to see he was taller than him. This way Alexander had to look up at his face.

"He would be here with us if you hadn't-" Søren just couldn't say it and his voice broke. The satisfaction vanished and his chest burnt again, blood raced through his body.  
"Raped him? No, I didn-" But Alexander didn't get to finish the sentence as Søren pushed him against the wall and held his arm against his throat, pressing into it.  
"You did. I know you did! He told me. Edvard told me. Stop lying," Søren spat and shot daggers at that man in front of him. But they didn't seem to have any effect on him as Alexander's shock was quickly replaced with a realisation and he started to laugh. "Oh, my mistake. You're not his friend. You're his new _boy_ friend, am I right?"  
"So what?"  
"On that part I have been lying, yes. Back then he was _my_ boyfriend, so I couldn't have raped him." Søren blinked and lowered his arm a bit.  
"What do you mean? Of course you could have…"  
"How? He was my boyfriend. He owed me sex after slapping me and I needed to let off steam after that horrible day. That's part of the whole deal, aside of the romantic stuff of course." Søren let go of Alexander and stepped back, mouth open and eyes flying over the man in front of him. He couldn't find a single drop of remorse in those eyes.

"You think you didn't-"  
"Of course I didn't! Good thing we liked it rough too. No wonder that stupid boy could have gotten it mixed up. I mean, usually he did moan and plead and he was all in all an eye candy with a wicked mouth but that day-" he clicked with his tongue and shook his head. "He was silent no matter what I did."  
"You…" Søren trembled again, his head turning red and a misty veil shoved itself over his eyes.

"So I broke up with him. He still saw me with that groom after all. That I couldn't get myself out of. He was a bore but such a good lay and he was so well behaving." Alexander sighed, as if he thought about a horse he saw at an auction which was beautiful to look at but couldn't be used in sports after all.  
"You.." Søren tried again and he felt his vein pulsating on his throat.  
"But you know that story probably. Here's my version. Still convinced your beloved Sigurd speaks the truth?"  
"More than before," Søren hissed. Alexander put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looked up at the ceiling.  
"Another one running around blaming me for stuff. Good thing no one is going to believe you or that Dutch guy."Alexander smirked and winked at Søren. He turned around to open the door again when he was sent flying to the floor. Pain spread from the left side of his face and Søren stood over him, panting and his hand still balled up in a fist.

"Don't you ever dare talk like this about Sigurd again," Søren said. Alexander held his hand to his cheek and slowly got up.  
"You're crazy!" he exclaimed as he shuffled backwards. "I'll call the police."  
"No one saw us," Søren said coldly. "No one is going to believe you."  
"Beat me more and it _will_ show!" Alexander said, voice breaking.  
"Oh, I'll spare my punches." Søren said and now it was his turn to grin wickedly, his eyes still set in fury. "Never encounter me alone anymore. Never speak badly about Sigurd and I'll spare my punches and I won't seek you out."

As Alexander remained silent, Søren huffed, opened the door and walked outside. He needed the fresh air and as he left the bright and warm restaurant he felt all the emotions wash over him. The night was cold but not even nearly as cold as it was in Norway. Søren walked around the building and reached a small park with a bench, just in time as his legs buckled and his strength left his body. He sat down between naked trees and a busy street in his back. But he didn't care. He didn't care if his dessert was waiting for him and Eliza would only notice his too long absence in some minutes. She would be too occupied bickering and flirting with Gilbert. Edvard would notice as soon as Alexander returned. But Søren didn't care. He felt how his eyes were teary, how his hands shook and his chest felt heavy. He didn't even know what exactly he was feeling. He only knew he needed to hear a certain voice.  
He pulled out his phone. The screen lightened up his face for a few seconds before he held the phone against his ear.

"Søren?"  
"Gods Sigurd…" Søren exhaled and closed his eyes.  
"What happened." It wasn't a question. It was a demand for information.  
"I… I had a fight in the restaurant's bathroom."  
"With whom?" With whom indeed, Søren thought and sighed. He couldn't tell him, could he? Sigurd was happy where he was. He was done with that part of his life. Why should Søren dare to disrupt the peace Sigurd had found?  
"Some arsehole. Treated his horse badly."  
"Are you hurt?"  
"No. I just needed to hear your voice," Søren said truthfully.  
"You surely did the right thing."  
"It felt so good punching that arrogant cock face."  
"If he beat horses, he deserved it."  
"You have no idea how much he deserved it," Søren said more passionately than intended and his words vibrated with anger.

"Are you alright?"  
"Yes. I just…" Søren sighed and he didn't even know what he felt. "I just wanted to tell you how much I love you. You're such an unbelievably great man and you're so gorgeous and handsome and…" Søren began to ramble the words. "…talented and kind and-"  
"I love you too, Søren," Sigurd interrupted him.  
"I miss you."  
"I miss you too."  
"Let's talk more tomorrow evening?"  
"Of course."  
"Good night love."  
"Good night. And don't get into anymore fights."

Søren sighed and leaned back on the bench. He hated lying. He hated lying to his loved ones even more. He hated lying to someone who already had been betrayed so deeply.  
"Are you ever coming back?" A familiar voice asked from behind Søren. He turned around and saw Edvard approach him, his leather shoes barely made a sound on the concrete path.  
"Sure. Just had to call Sigurd."  
"To tell him about Alexander?" Søren got up and shook his head.  
"No. I just needed to hear his voice after…"  
"After Alexander talked to you." Edvard stood in the dark still, the cone of light from the street lamp illuminating the ground just a metre in front of him. "What did he say?"  
"He found out I am his new boyfriend. Tried to convince me he didn't…" Søren hesitated again. How weak it must seem that he couldn't even formulate what he had done to Sigurd. However, for Søren it was clear that it had been much more than just the act. He stole his time at the stable, his chance to find friends by isolating him, he stole his future and his dream.

"Of course. He fears you," Edvard said and as he finally made the step into the light Søren saw he was smirking.  
"He better," Søren grumbled and approached Edvard to meet him in the middle.  
"Now that we are two, who know, in the same circle he moves in he's got to be careful now."  
"But we still don't have any evidence!" Søren said, wringing his hands.  
"No, but if he were to do anything like that again we'll be the first ones to remind everybody that it had happened once already."  
"He's a clever guy he knows how to shove any negative light away from him. And he doesn't even believe he did anything wrong."  
"That probably is the case. Which means he'll do it again."  
Søren frowned, motioned with his head that they should walk back to the restaurant. "I would rather have no one suffering again before we get him in front of a court."  
"We can't have everything. But I firmly believe that one day there is going to be some sort of justice for Sigurd and the poor soul who is going to be next."  
"I hope you're right this time as well."  
"Trust me, I am."


	14. Bergen

Life after the weekend got immensely easier. As soon as Alexander had left the ground Søren's shoulders relaxed, his lips tugged upwards and his hands itched to train and get better. Much quicker than he'd have thought he found back into his daily routine and it was a relieving feeling being able to tell his sponsors that he could show some achievements again.

The months were gone in a flash and as nature started to bloom again Søren found himself back in a narrow airplane seat, watching how the fjords passed by under him and they got closer and closer to rocks and wood, a long concrete lane and with a hard thud he was back in Norway. He felt like a boy again at Christmas Eve, waiting through the much too long dinner before he was allowed to open up his presents. The people in front of him were so excruciatingly slow. The Airport was small but for Søren it seemed like it took hours to pass the duty-free shop, get to the right luggage terminal and another eternity until his suitcase emerged. He tried hard to not jog through the customs or he'd be held back for some checks.

And finally. Finally, he saw those piercing blue eyes in the crowd. Two metres in front of Sigurd he let go of everything and pulled him into an embrace. He still smelled of horses, forest and leather. He chuckled against Søren's neck and mumbled something about him being like a puppy, but Søren didn't care. Sigurd was here and hugged him back. They only separated to kiss and only then they let each other go. Søren bent down to grab his suitcase, got up again and interlaced his fingers with Sigurd's.

All the way to the car he was grinning, telling Sigurd about what he had to tell him about later and asked whether or not the others were doing well, and if he'd had enough coffee or if they should get some first for him before they'd drive again. A mysterious smile played around Sigurd's lips as he declined and so Søren didn't ask again.

Back in the car they drove for fifteen minutes and they were simply chatting about how the horses were, what guests were currently at the barn. But then Sigurd drove off the highway in the direction of the city centre of Bergen.  
"Where are we going?" Søren asked and looked outside the window.  
"Can't you read?"  
"I know we're in Bergen but…" He turned around again to look at his boyfriend. "Why?"  
Sigurd shrugged and steered the car through the streets.  
"Maybe I wanted to have you a bit for my own before the others besiege you and we'll be occupied with horses and guests again." Sigurd looked at Søren with a wicked little smirk. "There's barely any privacy in the Norwegian Mountains nowadays."

Søren's face lit up and he felt how he was getting giddy again. They would surely have had some moments alone at the barn. In between training sessions, in between lessons, in between tours. They would be able to ride out alone in the evenings, have the living room for them late at night. But it was never more than a few hours. And when they were in the house chances were high, Hákon was too.

Sigurd pulled up in front of a large house a few walk minutes from the centre of Bergen. There were pots with some spring flowers put up in front of the large double door and a golden sign with a fancy font told Søren this was hotel "Huldra". The time he took to marvel at the building Sigurd had already taken out his suitcase and a small bag for himself.

Søren followed him inside and let him speak to the receptionist behind a sturdy looking wooden desk. When Sigurd said his name, the receptionist took a second to look at him with big eyes before she shuffled back to the paper work. Søren sent a questioning glance to Sigurd but he only waved it off. After that he only listened when she explained some important details such as when the front doors were locked, where they would find what and where their room was.

The house did not have an elevator but in return everything was held in a rustic style with a lot of wood and stone, warm yellow light and paintings of Norwegian landscapes. Søren could swear he saw a Troll in one of them but due to Sigurd's quick climbing he didn't have the time to get a better look at them.

Their room was held in the same style. Wooden walls, one large window overlooking the street and the roof tops of the surrounding houses. The large bed in the middle was draped in white sheets but Søren almost laughed when he saw that here too the beds had fur of sheep and reindeer on them. The bathroom was all stone and glass and Søren knew why Sigurd had chosen this modern yet rustic hotel.

"Change, we'll go out," Sigurd demanded and opened his own bag.  
"Aye," he simply said but threw himself on the bed and nuzzled the warm fur. He only heard an exasperated sigh before a hand traveled up his back and sent shivers down his spine. Something warm leaned down on him and he felt Sigurd's lips brush against his ear.  
"If you don't get up and change now I will continue the teasing without any reward for you."  
Søren groaned and shook his head.  
"No fair," he whined extra theatrically in an attempt to get his blood stop flowing downwards. Sigurd's warm chuckle was almost too much but the hand disappeared from his neck and Sigurd was back to getting his shirt and black pants out.

Søren turned around to sit up and followed the good example his boyfriend was. Out of courtesy he didn't look at how Sigurd undressed and left it to his imagination to fill in the gaps. Instead he went to the bathroom to freshen up.

When he returned he remembered the question that had lingered on his tongue.  
"Why did the receptionist look at you like that?" he asked eventually.  
"My family is still known around here." Sigurd said casually and buttoned up his blue shirt.  
"That much?"  
"Apparently. Father is often in the local papers and they have that odd tendency to mention Hákon and me as well if he is a candidate for anything or needs any presentation. As if being a father is some sort of accomplishment." Sigurd sneered, readjusted his golden pin in his hair and then leaned against the wall.  
"Don't they know you don't speak with him anymore?"  
"They did. The reporters eventually figured out that Hákon and I were having the barn far away from our father. We weren't some expected business people, nor politically active nor some studious doctors or lawyers. But my father…" Sigurd shrugged with his shoulders. "He used the opportunity that we didn't want to talk with the reporters. Used _our_ nature loving to say _he_ was nature loving and oh so supportive of us for letting us be whatever we want. Got him into a higher position in politics."  
"How nice for him."  
"It got us our peace and no one is interested in us anymore." Sigurd put the room key, wallet and phone in his jacket pocket and showed Søren out when he was done as well. "Just how we and he wanted it to be."

Sigurd led Søren down the streets of Bergen. The sun was already setting but the city still was full of life, vibrating as everybody felt in their bones how spring was coming. Joggers and couples alike were outside, small groups of friends finished up their shopping for clothes, some tourists still lingered around, photographing this and that. Students sat in cafés and were still studying or discussing or simply enjoying their evening.

Eventually Sigurd walked into a restaurant which looked cosy and romantic and Søren had to think back at their first date back here in the Pizzeria. It was a similar atmosphere with fairy lights and lanterns inside the restaurant giving the illusion of sitting in a pavilion in some garden. But with a severe lack of retro design and much more plastic plants placed at the wall, around tables and ranked around the bar.

"You simply can't do without some nature, eh?" Søren smirked as they were placed in their own small corner.  
"It's fake for the most part though," Sigurd said. "A weak substitute for their garden but alas it's too early for that."  
"It's nice here," Søren reassured and smiled fondly. He had a feeling that he would smile this way a lot this night.  
"I would have brought you here the first time. But it may have been a tad too romantic in case that…"  
"I wouldn't have been interested in you?"  
"Yes."  
"So worst case you would have had a good excuse that it wasn't a date, that you didn't chose it as it was just casually cosy. May have even changed since the last time you were there."  
"I'm a cautious man." Sigurd said it with a voice that made Søren almost thoughts worked on two planes. On one he chuckled, nodded and looked at the menu the waiter brought them. On the other he made the deduction that Sigurd didn't only say it because he wanted to bring up his bad experiences. He hinted at more. For sure.

They ordered and when their drinks were served Sigurd casually placed his hand on the table for Søren to reach out to and gently hold. Which he did of course. Søren told Sigurd about the upcoming events, how he needed to place well in this and that competition to gain points. He was without a nation's team so he had to earn his place as an individual for the Olympics. And there were more than enough European riders for the competition to be tough. Sigurd told him about some eccentric guests, his own events: Clinics, lessons, training and riding tours.

Their meal arrived and they had to let go of each other. Sigurd brushed with his middle and index finger over Søren's palm and fingers before retreating completely. Søren still felt a soft tingle in his hand as he focused on his dinner.

After they had tasted and commented on their meal they picked up conversation again, but Sigurd seemed to be distant. Søren could see it behind Sigurd's eyes. That was, until Sigurd suddenly said:  
"I can't stop thinking about that Christmas event we were at which Tormund was."  
Søren tilted his head slightly and nodded. Sigurd was here again with his mind.  
"Yes, what about it?"  
"It was a lot of fun, jumping like that. All the excitement, the height and the feeling of flying. Really flying. Not metaphorical like when you tölt or the small glimpses of it from my small obstacles at home."  
"Yeah, that was pretty cool what we did there."  
"I love my Fjords but big jumpers they are not." Sigurd smiled fondly but it faded much too quick. It created an awkward second in which neither said a word. Some people laughed in another corner of the restaurant. A piano was playing quietly through some hidden speakers and it had turned out that the flowers on their table were real and smelled amazing.

"You could buy a new horse to jump these heights?" Søren asked suddenly excited at his brilliant but obvious idea. Maybe he could invite Sigurd to his place. A lot of amazing horses all around the region and he, Sigurd and Edvard could spend some quality time together again… He was so deep in his fantasy of the possibilities that he almost missed what Sigurd said under his breath.  
"Wasted potential."  
"What?"  
"It's not that important for me, as long as I don't participate in competitions anymore. And I swore to myself to never do that again."  
"Which is totally understandable. But just think about it. You could surely get one of the mistreated horses which lets no one ride it anymore for little money, cure it with your mountain wizard magic and then jump as high as you want to."  
That let Sigurd shake his head chuckling, and they returned to other topics.

They finished their meal eventually, Sigurd payed the bill and led Søren out and to the harbour of Bergen. They walked closely together, hands interlaced, shoulders bumping against each other and the wine elevated their chuckles and small laughter. They weren't the only ones still out, by far not the only couple taking a walk and admiring the yellow, blue, red and white lights being reflected in the black water. Small waves sploshed against the trunks of the boats and the rigging creaked barely audibly. From time to time they could hear muffled music of various genres.

"You want to get a drink?" Sigurd asked as they left the harbour again, their asses cold from sitting on a bench, kissing, watching people and just leaning on each other, Søren's arm around Sigurd's waist, Sigurd's hand on Søren's thigh. Søren looked at his boyfriend, at his golden halo hair as they passed a yellow sign and suddenly he had the truth on his lips. How could he be so stupid to keep Alexander a secret? Sigurd would find out sooner or later anyways.

"Søren?"  
Søren stood still and he felt his heart beat, his blood pulsing and his chest tighten in uncertainty. What would happen if he told Sigurd? It wasn't that bad of a secret but Alexander now lived the life that was promised to Sigurd. He only wanted happiness for him and this truth certainly was not part of that.

"Søren, what's wrong?" Sigurd asked and squeezed his hand. Søren shook his head and smiled sheepishly.  
"Nothing. I just had a flashback." He started to walk again and feigned sudden interest in the naked trees in the street.  
"Was it a bad one?" Sigurd asked, concern lingering in his voice.  
"No, not really, I guess," Søren said. "What were you asking before?"  
"If you wanted to have a drink…" Sigurd repeated and the frown didn't leave his face. "Come on. I want to hear about that flash back at the bar."

Søren didn't have time to protest, as the bar was just a few metres up front and more of a pub anyways. Rock music was playing, the seats were low and comfortable, and the stools at the bar were cushioned as well. In a corner was a billiard table, people were talking and laughing loudly over the music. Sigurd ordered two beers and brought them to Søren who had found a place far in the back, near the toilets.

"So what's the deal?" Sigurd asked when they were settled in and have already tested the drink. Søren looked down and bit on his lower lip. Should he? Shouldn't he? What would Edvard say? What would Sigurd say once he found out? He didn't want to ruin this wonderful evening by mentioning a certain name.

"You know you can tell me everything," Sigurd said and leaned in closely to not miss a word.  
"I know," Søren said. "But what if it won't affect you directly but still might make you angry or sad?"  
Sigurd furrowed his brows and looked down at his glass as well. "Difficult."  
"I know," Søren managed to chuckle before he sighed. "I don't want to ruin this evening, you know?"  
"If you don't tell me now, you will ruin another evening."  
Søren looked into those blue eyes crowned with blonde lashes. Deep down he knew he couldn't and shouldn't keep it a secret. He was different than Alexander. Sigurd didn't need protection.

"Alright," Søren sighed, took a deep swig from his beer and licked his lips. "I've met Alexander."  
"Oh?" Sigurd tilted his head and his expression immediately was on guard.  
"He switched over to show jumping and is now in the German National team. They visited for that horsemanship clinic I told you about."  
Sigurd only nodded courtly.  
"And I-" Søren groaned an lowered his head. He tousled his hair at the back of his head. "Edvard didn't know that I didn't know and I shook his hand an even thought he looked sympathetic and-"  
"I know," Sigurd said dryly. "He has that effect on people."  
"I managed to keep calm but he confronted me the last evening in the bathroom."  
"And you hit him? Was he that person?"  
"Yes," Søren said miserably. "I am so sorry I didn't tell you sooner but Edvard and I agreed that we shouldn't bring up old demons and-"  
Sigurd interrupted him by laying his hands on Søren's cheeks, pulling his head up and kissing him.

"For hitting Alexander," he whispered before pinching him in his cheek. "For not being honest the first time." Søren was too stunned to say anything as Sigurd whispered: "For telling me now and being an absolute sweetheart." Sigurd pulled him into the second kiss. His hand traveled up to run through his messy hair. He tilted his head ever so slightly to deepen the kiss.

Søren eventually woke up from his stupor and placed his hand on Sigurd's neck, answering him with as much passion. A shiver travelled up his spine when Sigurd let his other hand travel down his chest, lower, lower, lower until it was on his hip crease. He didn't want to end the kiss by asking if Sigurd knew how much he turned him on until the realisation clicked in his head.

"I want you," Sigurd murmured with a hoarse voice Søren had barely ever heard on his lips, when they parted to catch some air.  
"Are you sure, you're ready?" Søren asked, stroking with his thumb over Sigurd's nape, brushing over the short and soft hair.  
"We'll have to try it out," Sigurd said with his darkened eyes set on him. Søren now sat on a chair of hot coals. He took Sigurd by the hands and pulled him up.  
"Good we have all the time we want," Søren smirked and this time their hands weren't interlaced as they walked through the streets, but sneaked around a waist or placed on other sneaky places.


	15. Ardor

Trigger Warning: This chapter is NSFW!

The receptionist was someone else when they entered the hotel again, but they barely noticed when Sigurd chased Søren over the stairs. His eyes didn't hide how he looked at his broad shoulders, the curves of his butt in those tight black pants. Walking up the stairs really brought them out. Once on the right floor, past the drawing of a forest hulder, Søren fumbled with the card when he tried to fish it out of his pocket. Sigurd was no help at all, wrapping his arms around Søren's waist, kissing his neck and pressing his body against him.

With a soft peeping sound, the door opened and the men entered, closing the door behind them again. And when they heard the soft clack, they stood in front of each other, hearts beating loudly in their chests and their eyes full of want. But they didn't touch. The yellow light from the street entered their dark room through the glass window, giving a golden edge to the dark blue faces.

"Do we even have what we need?" Søren asked to break the silence.  
"Yeah. In my bag," Sigurd said and averted his eyes.  
"So you already had planned this, huh?" Søren whispered, a grin slowly spreading.  
"Just kiss me already." Sigurd reached out for Søren, wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Søren moved in, answered those hungry lips slowly, sweetly and ran his hands over the back of Sigurd's shirt.

He felt him move, barely exploring, rather letting his fingers almost frantically open his shirt. He felt the tremble, the hastiness and when his chest was exposed and the fingers already moved to the target farther below and opening the pants lose, he stopped him. His hands wrapped around the trembling ones, holding them tightly.  
"Sigurd, slow," he whispered. He tilted his head and kissed his cheek. "It's not something to just get over with." He kissed him where the ear met his cheek and slowly the calloused fingers held his back.

"Sorry," Sigurd answered and sighed.  
"It's alright." He slowly brushed with the tip of his nose down the back of Sigurd's jawline. He planted a kiss on the tender spot on the neck, just between ear and jaw. "But I don't think we should rush this. No regrets, we'll stop if one of us feels uncomfortable."  
"Alright."  
"Good." And Søren lazily finished kissing down Sigurd's neck and throat, as far as his shirt allowed.

The next time their lips met, the hands were as slow as the kiss. When Sigurd's shirt finally came off, Søren didn't look at him but let his hands roam freely over his chest, feeling the toned muscles, the collarbones, the nipples, his ribs. He earned little sighs when he ran over sensitive spots and only when he dipped his hands to the small of Sigurd's back he opened his eyes, teasing with the tips of his fingers on the rim of his pants. His own had fallen off along the kiss as they had gotten too loose.

"You're so handsome," Søren breathed out and immediately went to work to mark the neck, the shoulders, the chest, the pink and hard nipples, the belly button to the hem of his pants with little kisses. When he was down on his knees his hands were placed on Sigurd's hips and he looked up at the man and licked his lips.  
"Gods, I wanna blow you."  
Sigurd only looked at him with red tinted cheeks and a head that spun too heavily to form a cohesive thought.  
"You can," he finally managed to say, faster than his mind could conjure any objections. And when the Dane ran his hands down and palmed his crotch, slowly opened his pants as he placed a kiss on the top of the bulge, he needed Søren to touch him more.

And touch and tease Søren did. As soon as the pants were down he breathed kisses over the inner thighs, brushed with his thumbs over the elastic of his boxer briefs, pulling them excruciatingly slow down. Sigurd's breath quickened, his hands searched for something to hold on to and only found the cold wooden wall behind him. He pressed his lips together. When Søren looked up again their eyes met.

"You okay?" he asked and brushed with his fingers over the trail of silver hair disappearing into his grey briefs. Sigurd blinked and took a deep breath.  
"I wished we could just get over with it," he answered and leaned his head against the wall looking up.  
"But I want you to enjoy yourself. To be sure you want this. That it feels good."  
"It does feel good."  
"But you're still thinking."  
"It's automatic." Sigurd looked down again, into those bright eyes and he knew deep down that this man couldn't and would never want to hurt him. And yet here he was hesitating, thinking.

"Then I'll do better," Søren said with such a resolution that it made Sigurd chuckle.  
"Did you even ever blow someone before?"  
"In fact, I did," Søren smirked and began to tease again at the elastic. "And in fact, I was great."  
"Oh, yeah?"  
Søren kissed the hardened bulge one last time before winking at Sigurd and pulling down the fabric completely.  
"Yeah. He couldn't get enough. No sex without a blow job of mine." When the fabric hit the ground, Søren lowered his gaze and he could feel how Sigurd was tense, waiting.

"You're bigger than I thought," he breathed and to ease the tension he softly ran his hands up and down Sigurd's thighs.  
"I am?" Sigurd asked pointedly and arched an eyebrow. He received a smirk and a kiss on the base of his shaft.  
"But we'll still have to find out if you're bigger than me." He felt how Sigurd relaxed under him when he rolled his eyes and he took it as an okay to start showing him how good he really was.

Slowly he worked himself from licking the tip to taking in more and more, from teasing to bobbing his head and taking in all he could. He took his time and found out that Sigurd would sigh so beautifully when he took him all in. How he would stifle his groan when he sucked on the small space between his shaft and balls. At one point Sigurd's hands found Søren's hair and it was now even easier finding out what felt good judging by the tugging and clawing into his hair. And finally, he heard a low, hungry and husky moan.

"Søren…" Sigurd looked down at him, his hands tugging at his hair, making him look up. "I want you completely."  
"Bed?" Søren smirked and kissed the beet red tip, dripping with precum and saliva.  
"Yes." He pulled Søren up with his hand. Kissing and rubbing on his still clothed crotch and hipbones, he shoved him backwards until his legs touched the bed. Søren let himself fall backwards, pulling Sigurd after him. They moved around so they were fully on the bed, not without stopping to kiss.

Now it was his turn taking a fistful of Sigurd's hair in his hand, tilting his head in order to kiss him deeply. His hips were eager to find friction on the body above him. It was so damn difficult to keep his thoughts collected when his partner was so hot and so close and already moving in small waves over him. Sigurd's hand pulled and tugged on his briefs until they were off and he didn't stifle his moan when a calloused hand found his length.

"You're not too bad either," murmured Sigurd in his ear as he let his fingers run up and down.  
"Hm, and you can know this by merely feeling – ah!" Søren closed his eyes when Sigurd thumbed his tip.  
"Yes," Sigurd couldn't help but smirk and feeling confident in this moment and knowing what probably was wanted of him. He made his way down on his knees, kissing every muscle down to the trail of hair on his lower abdomen. But the lower he got, the slower he became until he stopped entirely. Søren indeed wasn't small. But Sigurd had the suspicion that he himself was longer, although thinner.

"You don't have to," Søren said as he slowly pulled himself up to his elbows.  
"But I want to," Sigurd said and licked his lips. It at least helped that Søren's dick wasn't circumcised unlike a certain other's. He slowly bent down, parted his lips as he had done so many times before. It was silent in the room, like when Alexander was at his alright days. Worse than the few compliments or moaning, but better than the cussing, the degrading. He pressed his eyes shut and mentally shoved the unwelcome flashbacks far, far away, before-

"Sigurd," Søren called for him again and this time he sat up. A warm hand cupped Sigurd's cheek and gentle lips kissed the other. "Another time, okay?" Sigurd opened his eyes again and was welcomed by warm eyes, full of care. He leaned in and kissed Søren, slow, tasting, lingering. It was Søren who was here, who kissed him like that. No one else.  
"Talk, compliment, moan, please," he whispered when their lips parted. "And if its telling me how comfortable the bed is." That made Søren smirk.  
"Oh, trust me I won't run out of things to say to you."  
"Idiot," Sigurd said affectionately before slowly pushing him down with his hand on his chest.

They quickly heated it up again with kisses turned open mouthed, their bodies rubbing on each other and Søren's filthy moans.  
"Gods, Sigurd I really want you inside of me," he breathed out when Sigurd was occupied kissing, sucking and biting on his neck, throat and chest, leaving a red clover field on his boyfriend. Dark blue eyes looked up, pecked his cheek and nodded. Sigurd sat up and leaned over the edge of the bed. Søren could hear a zipping sound, something moving inside a bag and not five seconds later Sigurd was back over him with a small tube and a condom in hand. Søren sat up as well and with a slightly shaking hand he took the tube.

"You know how to prepare yourself?" Sigurd asked as he opened the thin foil and getting the condom on his dick.  
"Nope," Søren answered and smiled at the other. "I've never done this before."  
"You mean lubing yourself up?"  
"I've never been lubed up and I've never lubed up anyone. That guy preferred to do it himself."  
"Oh," Sigurd mouthed, but Søren's smile didn't waver.  
"It's going to be something new for both of us."  
"Yeah," Sigurd said and answered the smile with his own. "I'll do it for you. Lay down and relax."  
Søren handed him back the tube and did as he was told to. Sigurd smeared some of the lube on his fingers and propping himself up on one hand he planted a soft kiss on Søren's lips.  
"I really mean it with relaxing."  
"Alright."

And Sigurd slowly circled Søren's hole with his index finger before softly and slowly inserting it. He immediately felt Søren clench and shiver. Three kisses on his chest and a whispered "Relax," and Sigurd could softly wriggle his finger around. He felt Søren under him shift, getting comfortable with the foreign feeling and always reminding himself to relax. When Sigurd could enter the second finger they were kissing again, with some twisting of their necks towards the other, to ease the discomfort. Søren's hand found the silvery hair and his tongue pleasing words he could plant on his man's lips. "You're so gentle," "I love your long fingers," "You're gorgeous," "I love you."

And Sigurd replied by being even gentler, by giving Søren time to get to like the feeling, to explore and marvelling at his hot mess of a boyfriend.  
When Sigurd could slowly, gently fuck him with three fingers the words were replaced with soft moans and stifled groans on Søren's side with legs parted widely, begging for Sigurd to get between them. And he did.

When his hand was free again he smeared some more lube on his hand before spreading it over his dick and tossing the tube on the ground. Søren watched him, feeling his member aching for more touch, his insides burning for something to replace the fingers and he could only comfort the wanting lips by biting on the lower one. Sigurd positioned himself, the tip probing at Søren's hole but he directed his eyes towards his lover.

"You okay?" he asked.  
"More than okay," Søren smiled and reached for Sigurd who leaned in. "You?" Their lips met for a second.  
"I really want this," Sigurd murmured and slowly pushed his hips forwards. He felt the hitch in breath of Søren, the building of a low and deep moan in the back of his own throat. It was so hot. Hands were holding onto him and he felt the hint of nails on his shoulder blades.

"You're so big," Søren breathed and closed briefly his eyes.  
"Does it hurt?" Sigurd asked worriedly, and brushed a strand of hair out of Søren's face.  
"No. You prepared me well." He opened his eyes again and his hands relaxed. Sigurd nodded but still waited for Søren to adjust as good as possible. It was easy to ignore his body that just wanted to move already. Søren was right. They shouldn't rush.

Only when Søren actively kissed Sigurd, shifted experimentally his body and even began to try and roll his hips, did he move himself. He knew it wasn't too good. He had never been in this position and his last time was years ago. He already felt shame and those words too well known by him dwelling up. He continued to move, to try and please Søren as good as possible, but averted his face and closed his eyes. He tried to suppress his groans, tried to concentrate on the feeling of Søren's body around and under him. On his moans, his hands tugging on his hair, his decision to wrap his legs around his waist to pull him even deeper inside, to hug him and press him against his body.

"Sigurd!" Søren moaned into his ear and Sigurd couldn't resist anymore and opened his eyes again. He slowed down, calmed his breath, and marvelled at Søren. His hard blush reddening his cheeks, nose and ears. His hair in an even wilder disarray, splayed around his face like the flames around the sun. His swollen lips, lightly parted to produce those sweet sounds. And the darkened eyes looking at him, completely captured. Søren was his.

"Sigurd, you're so beautiful," Søren whispered and with a hand in his silky hair he pulled him into a deep kiss not unlike the one they had under the northern lights. "I love you so much."  
Sigurd forgot where he was and all that was left were all those intense feelings he wouldn't have known what to do with before he met Søren. But now they liberated him to trust, to moan, to move and to experiment. To bite, to feel, to know what he liked, to know what Søren liked, to sense how fast and strong it was needed for them to move, to love deeply and pour everything out of his heart and showing how much he trusted and loved this man.

He was also set on making Søren come first and with a hand pumping his dick, a last deep thrust and a "Love you," on his lips he managed to do that. Søren arched his back before jerking up with his hips, gasping and spilling over his and Sigurd's chest with his lover's name murmured over and over again. Sigurd didn't last much longer and grasped at the sheets beside Søren's head as he thrusted deep into him, his balls touching Søren's ass and moaning loudly.

"Søren!" He felt like a lightning struck him and with a second deep thrust he came. His arms shook and pulled out of Søren to instead roll over onto his back and catch his breath. Stars danced inside his head not letting him think straight but he already felt an arm wrap around him and warm lips fluttering over his face.  
"I love you," Søren said. Sigurd turned his head towards him and he couldn't swipe the smile off his face even if he tried. He brushed with his knuckles over the cheek and inched closer.  
"Love you more," Sigurd whispered and kissed him slow and sweet.

When both breathed normally again and felt the chill of a Norwegian night leaking even through the hotel walls Sigurd slowly sat up.  
"Let's get cleaned up." This earned him a soft groan but Søren got up anyways and followed him to the bathroom. The condom was thrown into the bin, the lube and cum wiped off and the teeth were hurriedly brushed before they found themselves back in bed, under the sheets and arm in arm.

It was silent for a good while and Søren was already afraid that Sigurd might have fallen asleep when that lovely head craned towards him.  
"Next time I'll try again blowing you." Søren's heart made a small jump hearing 'next' and 'time'.  
"And next time it's still not bad if you need more time."  
"I love you."  
"And I love you."  
Sigurd lifted his head and placed it on Søren's chest, now looking out of the window. Everything was silent. Not a car driving, not a soul moving. He only heard Søren's soft beating heart. He felt his chest gently rising and falling. Somewhere in his stomach something bubbled.

"You are a careful man indeed, Sigurd," Søren said into the silence and Sigurd felt more than he heard that some reproach was swinging in it. But much more understanding filled the statement.  
"You figured it out?" Sigurd whispered.  
"That you have planned all of this, that you wanted our first time to be in a hotel?"  
"You already knew that. But now you realised why."  
"Because if it would have gone to hell the memory wouldn't be linked to your safe place."  
"You're a sensible man. Much more than I'd have given you credit for when we first met."  
"Hey!"  
"Which still isn't that much."  
"Hey!" Søren's fingers found Sigurd's sides and tickled him. The man on him startled like a jump-scared cat and yelped.  
"No tickling!" He sat now at the other end of the bed and looked at the other with bewildered and reproachful eyes which seemed to ask "How dare you tickle me out of nothing?!".

Søren laughed and offered Sigurd his hand.  
"Come on scaredy-cat."  
"I'm not a scaredy-cat. Just ticklish."  
"Alright, I'm sorry Wonderful. Come back at my side?"  
Sigurd tilted his head, contemplating his options before accepting, kissing the hand and moving back at Søren's side. Both settled back under the blankets and made sure that no arm was at risk of falling asleep before they fell silent again. Sigurd planted a last kiss on Søren's chest before curling up at his side, and Søren continued to softly brush with his thumb over Sigurd's shoulder, even when he was falling asleep.

Thank you for reading and I hope you liked the first smut chapter of this fanfic! As always, thoughts, critique and comments are always welcome 3


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